The Impromptu Road Trip
by Azrael-013
Summary: [Complete] Eight of the guys are randomly stuck at an airport due to flight complications. The only way they can get to the next show is by driving there. Will they survive the trip with each other? PG13 for humor, language and abstract stupidity.
1. The Missed Flight

  
  
**The Impromptu Road Trip**  
  
Genre: Humor/ Action/Adventure  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: Eight of the guys are randomly stuck at an airport due to flight complications. The only way they can get to the next show is by driving there. Will they survive the trip with each other? PG-13 for humor, language and abstract stupidity. Disclaimer: I do not own World Wrestling Entertainment, nor am I in any way affiliated with the said company. I also do not own the unfortunate eight wrestlers who happen to be featured in this tale. At least not yet. I am not doing this for profit. Well shit, then what in the hell am I doing this for??  
  
Well, entertainment, for one thing. I think I got the idea after watching the movie Road Trip for about the seventh time. Not the most original idea I've had, but hey, I've been ripped off before too so what the hell? And I'm not the best person when it comes to geography so forgive me if some of the locations seem off put.  
  
This was posted up here some six or seven months ago, but due to my frustrations with management I pulled it unthinkingly. That's why Spanky is still here and the storylines that are mentioned are horribly outdated. I've had a few months to collect my head and I've decided to repost this story to landmark my return (how egotistical was that line?). Right, I'm going to stop babbling now and get on with the fic.  
  
Date Uploaded: 08 September 2004  
  
**The Missed Flight  
**  
  
"What do you mean there are NO MORE flights to Phoenix???" the blonde at the front of the line shrieked hysterically.  
  
That was the first thing Brian 'Spanky' Kendrick heard when he dashed through the automatic doors of the airport in the hopes of catching a late flight to Arizona. At that sudden exclamation that seemed to ring through the entire first floor of the Seattle, Washington airport, though, he skidded to a stop.  
  
The hapless woman at the counter serving her irritable customer shrugged her shoulders apologetically. "I'm sorry, sir, but the next flight scheduled for that area is in four day's time," she said.  
  
Chris Jericho fumed at her, annoyed that she wasn't simply trembling in her boots and trying to call a private jet for him at that moment. "Four days?? Look at me-" he looked at her nametag, "Sonia. Do I look like I have four days to sit on my ass and wait for a plane to take me to Arizona??"  
  
"Sir, really, that's hardly my concern," she sniffed. "There was a flight half an hour earlier. If you had caught that one-"  
  
"Well I hadn't caught that one!!" Jericho yelled in an irritated tone. Actually he was supposed to have been on that plane with a majority of the rest of the other WWE superstars, but let's just say that he spent one too many minutes rubbing that Herbal Essences shampoo into his hair that morning. "Now Samantha-"  
  
"Sonia."  
  
"WHATEVER!!" Jericho snapped. "If there is no direct flight to Phoenix, Arizona, then are there any connecting flights to it that I can make my appointment there for two days from now??"  
  
By this time Sonia was beyond miffed and determined to make his life a living hell. "Let me just check," she said, moving purposely in slow motion to her computer as Jericho drummed his fingers impatiently.  
  
The panting Spanky finally joined Rob Van Dam at the end of the short line. "I guess this means that I missed the plane, huh?" he said with a wry grin.  
  
"Yeah, you, me, the Queen of the Whiners up in front, the French dude arguing into his cellphone over to the side and the Eminem-Vanilla Ice Hybrid a few places up in the line," Rob said with one of his casual grins.  
  
"Hey, I heard dat, foo," Cena snapped from his place. A few paces away from them, Rene Dupree simply continued spouting French profanities into his mobile phone.  
  
"So what's your reason for missing the plane?" Rob asked Spanky, ignoring Cena's rude and indistinguishable hand gesture that nearly poked out the eye of the person standing behind him.  
  
Spanky colored. "Let's just say that I had some trouble while in the shower."  
  
"Had problems getting rid of the usual morning erection?" Rob asked, curiously sympathetic and much too blunt for Spanky's taste.  
  
"NO!" he replied in a way too loud voice. He dropped his tone back down to a whisper when the lady in front of them turned to give him a displeased glare. "I was sharing a room with Rey at the hotel," he said to Rob. "Well, while I was in the shower, he suddenly thinks that it's a good idea to make off with all the towels and the keycard that was in the slot that triggers the electricity in the room," he sighed.  
  
Rob grinned easily. "So what happened?"  
  
"I slipped in the shower and nearly cracked my head open on the tub," Spanky said irritably. "I had to dry myself with the bed covers and then throw some clothes on. I'll bet the chamber maid won't be pleased to find those wet sheets."  
  
Back at the counter Sonia finished looking up flights in her computer after an exaggerated glance at her fingernails, infuriating Chris Jericho. "Well here's a couple of connecting flights headed for Arizona," she said finally.  
  
"Well stop dawdling, woman, and tell me what they are!" Jericho snapped.  
  
"You can take the plane in an hour that goes to Boston," she replied in a bored voice. "From there there's a flight to Detroit, then Bismark, then Chicago, then Denver, then Dallas, then Santa Fe, a little detour back to Salt Lake City and then finally Phoenix, Arizona," she looked up at him with a maddening grin on her face. "That along with layovers should get you where you want to be in about, oh, four days."  
  
Jericho glared at her, red in the face.  
  
"You want my suggestion? I say wait for the straight flight I gave earlier," Sonia said to him, giving him a wink. "Much less hassle that way."  
  
Fortunately for Sonia and her neck, mild-mannered reporter Gregory Helms chose that moment to stride into the area, and saw Jericho reaching over the counter in an attempt to strangle the life out of the poor woman. Helms ran over immediately and started pulling Jericho back. "Chris Jericho, I must implore you to desist!" he said, struggling against the Canadian's practically feral attempts to break away. "That is not a gentlemanly thing to do to a lady!"  
  
"That spawn of hell over the counter is hardly a lady, junior!!" Jericho roared.  
  
"Should we help him?" Spanky wondered, indicating Hurri-er, Helms.  
  
Rob shrugged. "Why not? We're not going anywhere in this line anyway."  
  
Helms was still trying to pry Jericho away from the counter when Spanky and Rob came up to offer their assistance. Between the three of them they managed to get Jericho away from Sonia, who simply smiled at him and blew him an exaggerated kiss as he was led away.  
  
"Do you three have a death wish??" Jericho demanded when Helms, Spanky and Rob dropped him into one of the cushioned seats in the nearest waiting area.  
  
"Hey man, better us than security dragging you off for attempted assault," Rob pointed out.  
  
"Hurting that defenseless woman would be a fruitless solution to your problem anyway," Helms pointed out logically.  
  
"It would have made me feel a hell of a lot better, though!" Jericho shot back.  
  
"What sort of news made you act so violently anyway, Citi-I mean, Chris Jericho?" Helms asked.  
  
"Didn't you hear?" Spanky said. "The next flight to Arizona is in four days. Any connecting flights to it will actually take four days to go through as well."  
  
"WHAT??" a startled voice exclaimed.  
  
The four of them turned to see Matt Hardy having come in and catching the tail end of their conversation. "Yep, you heard right," Rob said with an easy smile. "We're screwed."  
  
"But we've got to be in Arizona in two days!" Matt said as he came up to them. "Are you guys sure that there's no other way?"  
  
"If there is, CJ over there fucked it up by goin' loco on that bitch behind the counter," John Cena, Rene Dupree right behind him, said as he came over and dumped his stuff beside their group. "No way in hell dat chick's gonna be throwin' any favors in our direction after that."  
  
"Why don't you shut the hell up, ass clown??" Jericho snapped at him.  
  
Rene sighed in disgust. "Just like an American to be so brash."  
  
"I'm CANADIAN, you half-wit!" Jericho snapped. "Just like you!"  
  
"I'm afraid you're mistaken. I come from France," Rene said, looking as innocently surprised as he could. Jericho groaned and made an irritated noise in reply.  
  
"And just exactly why did you miss the plane?" Rob asked Rene.  
  
"I told Sylvan to go ahead to the airport," Rene said, answering easily enough. "I was unfortunate enough to get a taxi with an incompetent driver, but then again I guess that that's a staple part of this country. When I got here the plane had taken off."  
  
"And who were you talking to on your phone?" Spanky asked.  
  
"Sylvan," Rene said.  
  
"Correct me if I'm wrong, Rene Dupree, but isn't Sylvan Grenier on the plane?" Helms wondered.  
  
"Yes," Rene said with a slight shrug. "We talked about this problem, but then some completely irrational woman stopped him and said that the conversation was interfering with the plane's signals and making it teeter," Rene said, frowning in displeasure.  
  
Rob and Spanky threw each other glances and shook their heads.  
  
Matt groaned. "Great, just great," he snapped. "Just my luck to have been late and gotten stuck with you losers."  
  
"Watch who you're calling a loser, jerky," Jericho snarled.  
  
"Oh so we're losers, huh?" Spanky retorted. "Where are your blasted MFers, oh Innovator of Mattitude?"  
  
"None of your business, you baby faced pipsqueak."  
  
"Ooh, touchy. Let me guess, either one of them somehow forgot to play your alarm clock for the morning and ditched you to board the plane in an effort to have at least two hours of peace from your uninteresting ramblings about yourself?"  
  
Rob was the one who stepped in before the two of them could get into a scuffle right there in the lobby. "Whoa, chill…" he said, pushing them apart with his arms. "Look, there might still be some way to get to the shows in time."  
  
"Rob is right," Helms piped up. "All we need to do is put our heads together, and fighting will only deter us from coming up with a plan!"  
  
"Damn, Hurricane, do you got to be talkin' like some superhero-wannabe all the time?" Cena spoke up. "It gets annoying really fast, man."  
  
Helms gave him a funny look. "I'm flattered that you've mistaken me to be the Hurricane, John Cena, but I'm afraid that you're mistaken. I am not the superhero you speak of," he grinned. "Besides, you should talk."  
  
"What's the matter wit the way I talk??" Cena demanded.  
  
"Your grammar is atrocious, you slur your words, you hardly pronounce your r's and your th's, and on top of that you seem to think you're a degenerate African-American," Rene said.  
  
"You wanna come over here and say that, punk??" Cena challenged.  
  
"Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Rene LeSchmuck," Matt said.  
  
"Oh goodie," Jericho suddenly groaned. "I'm stuck here with the comic book nerd, the white guy who thinks he's black, the makings of an egotistic cult leader, the misguided French-Canadian stereotypical patriotic retard, some snot-nosed rookie I don't even know the name of, and the dude who's forever on a natural high," he said sarcastically. "Can it get any worse??"  
  
"Hey, what do you know?" a jolly and familiar voice called behind the group. "Never expected to see you guys here, and in such an odd group for that matter!"  
  
All six of them turned to see none other than Mick Foley trudging up to them, travel bag in one hand a gap-toothed grin on his face. He set his stuff down and put his arms around Hurricane and Spanky while smiling around at the whole group. "Does this mean I haven't missed the plane?"  
  
"I was wrong, it just got worse," Jericho groaned again.  
  
"Mick, what're you doing here?" Rob asked.  
  
"I got permission from Linda to travel around with the roster for a while in order to promote my new book," Mick said, still grinning. "You've heard of it, I'm sure. It's about a dude who was adopted back in the sixties but never really was, and then his real dad shows up when he's in his teen years."  
  
"That's fascinating, Mick, I can't wait to read it," Matt said sarcastically.  
  
Mick beamed. "Great, I'll send you one the moment it comes out from the publishers, how's that?" he said, making Matt want to shove his bag into his mouth for saying something stupid like that.  
  
"What's it called again? Tietam Green?" Jericho mocked.  
  
"Tietam Brown," Mick corrected.  
  
"It could be Tietam Periwinkle Blue for all I care!!" Jericho burst out. "You seem to be missing the point that we're stuck here!!"  
  
"Yeah, none of us are going to be traveling around for a while," Spanky said. "We all just missed the last plane in four days to Arizona."  
  
"Aw damn, we did?" Mick looked crestfallen. He brightened up a moment later, though. "No problem, we can just take a connecting flight there."  
  
"Jericho here has ruined any chance of that," Helms said dryly. "Apparently he ticked off airport personnel and now the horrible chain of possible connecting flights will take us four days as well to complete."  
  
"Watch it, Clark Bent, or I'll make you eat that hat," Jericho growled at him.  
  
"Yo dawgs, we gots to think of somethin'," Cena spoke up. "Ain't no way I'm missin' dat show up in Phoenix."  
  
"We?? What in the hell do you mean by we??" Jericho snapped, jumping up to glare at him. "There's no way in HELL that I'm going to stick around with this mismatched bunch! You all make the Manson family look normal!" he grabbed his bags. "I'm going to find a way out of this mess, and I'm going to do it away from all of you ass clowns!"  
  
"Hang on there, Chris," Mick said, grabbing his arm.  
  
"Mike, get your hand off my arm if you know what's good for you," Jericho snarled.  
  
"Think reasonably, Chris," Mick said to him. "It's better if we stick together. Besides, seeing as the airport isn't going to give us much help and the train is usually a lost cause, there's only one other thing we can do."  
  
"And what's that?" Rene asked.  
  
Mick pointed to where a car rental agency had a branch on the far side of the airport. "Up for a road trip, everybody?" he suggested with a grin, prompting groans from all of the others.  
  
**cont'd**  
  
Loved it? Hated it? Please review and tell me if I should continue it, or stick it in a blender like the rest of my half-assed fic starts! Thanks! 


	2. Maps, Rope, Weed, Cops, and Mr Socko

  
  
Since so many of you seemed to like the start, that was enough to give me the kick in the ass that I needed to continue this fanfic. While writing this part I got visions of this one really weird movie about highway cops busting this group of teenaged boys, and then one sick dude in the back started to wolf down this grotesque amount of pot... anyway, despite that, I hope that you like this second chapter.  
  
09 September 2004  
  
**Maps, Rope, Weed, Cops, and Mr. Socko**  
  
"You all know how stupid this is, right?"  
  
"Jericho, shut up," Mick said good-humoredly from where he was at the driver's seat.  
  
He, Jericho, Rob Van Dam, Spanky, John Cena, Matt Hardy, Rene Dupree and Gregory Helms were currently in an SUV, heading off on a very long road trip to Arizona. As of the moment they had been going on for about two hours now, and Jericho would not stop bitching about how this was the most moronic idea in the history of moronic ideas.  
  
They had rented the vehicle, a twelve-seater van, and Mick, Rob, Spanky and Helms had piled into it easily. Cena and Dupree had been harder to persuade, and Matt seemed determined to make himself a pain in the ass until Mick reminded him of Vince's impatience with less than punctual superstars. It was Chris Jericho who proved to be the biggest challenge. They ended up having to shove him headfirst into the middle seat and then shutting the door quickly after him. After that they loaded all their stuff into the back and last seat and was out of there.  
  
"You could have left me back at the airport, Mike, I'd have found a way to get to Arizona, one that didn't involve you guys!" Jericho said, showing no signs of clamming up.  
  
"Chris, shut the fuck up before Cena and I decide to give you a boot in the ass again," Matt muttered from the front seat. "It was hard enough to get you into the vehicle, it would be a waste to throw you out."  
  
"Listen, Hardy Boy, I entered this van under duress, and if you keep that up I'll make sure that you're under constraint yourself for the remainder of the trip, got it??" Jericho snapped.  
  
"Did we REALLY have to take him with us?" Spanky spoke up with a slight whine.  
  
"He's still tied up, right?" Mick asked, not turning around.  
  
"Yeah," Rob said, pulling at one of the heavy ropes they had used to bind the bellyaching blonde Canadian after seven minutes of putting up with his inane struggles and his futile attempts to throw himself out of the window of the speeding van. As of the moment he was looking like some oversized cocoon with a huge mouth.  
  
"Was that actually necessary, Mick Foley?" Helms spoke up from the second to the last seat. "It seems a rather extremist way to deal with the situation."  
  
"And it hurts too, jackass!" Jericho snapped at him, looking ready to bite someone's hand off. "Take this fucking rope off me!"  
  
"He is starting to turn blue in the face from screaming his lungs out, though," Rene commented.  
  
"Good," Mick simply said indifferently. "But to be on the safe side gag him too."  
  
"You've got be FUCKING kidding me!" Jericho immediately screamed out. He saw Cena grin at him sadistically as Rob looked around for something to shove into his mouth. "Hey, this is enough to warrant kidnapping already, Mike, and you're just going to make it worse by-"  
  
"Anybody got something I can tie around his mouth?" Rob asked.  
  
"I think I've got just the thing," Mick said, then reached into his pants.  
  
Even before Jericho could scream, Mr. Socko had been promptly stuffed into his mouth and tied tightly behind his head. The self-proclaimed Living Legend gagged on the offending sock puppet, and then proceeded to protest in a muffled voice, giving everybody death glares as he did.  
  
Spanky sat back with a contented sigh. Maybe at least now they would get some quiet while on the road.  
  
Poor, naive Spanky.  
  
Mick tossed Matt the road map they had acquired at the airport. "All right, Matt, you're my navigator," Mick said, not taking his eyes off the road. "I know we're supposed to exit this road soon and end up on the freeway or something like that. Tell me where to make a right."  
  
Matt looked grumpy at being told what to do, but he resigned himself to it by thinking that the other schmucks in the van didn't have one of the key Mattributes to do it: intelligence. He took the map and unfolded it, holding it up in front of him and taking almost three quarters of space up in the front.  
  
"Take a right here," Matt said, as Spanky yawned from his seat and Rene turned to fish out his bag at the back. Once he had found it he began to shuffle through it in order to find that power shake he had packed inside before leaving the hotel.  
  
Mick obligingly turned right and did end up on the freeway. He speeded up a little bit as cars whizzed past. "Now what?"  
  
"Hang on…" Matt said impatiently from where he was trying to squint at the ridiculously small and practically incomprehensible wording on the map.  
  
"Hey dude, can you see my bag from there too?" Rob suddenly said to Rene.  
  
"Unfortunately, yes," Rene replied, managing to get his shake.  
  
"Do me a favor and open the front pouch, will you? There's a bag there with some special stuff," RVD grinned. "I think we can all use some of it, Jericho here especially."  
  
"Special stuff?" Cena echoed. Jericho's muffled protests promptly escalated, being the only one who actually understood what Rob was implying, seeing as Mick and Matt were still preoccupied with arguing over the direction that they were going.  
  
"This?" Rene asked, finally tossing a plastic bag with a suspicious-looking green substance in it at him.  
  
"Yeah, that's it," Rob said, catching the bag. "Now who's got some paper…?"  
  
"I'm telling you, that's not our exit," Mick was saying from the driver's seat, pulling at the map.  
  
"Mick, I think I know how to read a fucking map," Matt snapped at him, yanking it back. He jabbed a finger at a painfully small diagram of a road opening on the map. "That's our exit, two miles farther than the one that you're insisting on."  
  
"Matt, if we take that one we'll wind up somewhere in Vancouver for all we know," Mick said, starting to sound impatient and tugging the map again. The two of them were still currently oblivious to the fact that Rob was in the middle of making little, illegal joysticks.  
  
"I'm telling you, that's not right!" Matt insisted, jerking the map back.  
  
"I think I've been traveling on the road for much longer than you have, Hardy Boy," Mick said. "And now I say that THIS is our exit-"  
  
"Mick Foley, look out!!!" Gregory Helms suddenly screamed from his seat.  
  
Mick, having gotten too engrossed in picking the fight with Matt Hardy and yanking the map around over the front of the vehicle that he had neglected the fact that he was technically supposed to be driving. Right now the van was headed directly into a pole. He gave a squeal that he would later attribute to having mockingly copied from Al Snow, and wrenched the steering wheel back. Cena let out an expletive as he crashed forward, while Helms managed to grab hold of the seat in front of him and steady himself. Spanky had barely let out a squeak before the much bigger Rene unfortunately squashed him up against the window. Jericho, having no control over his limbs, fell right onto RVD, causing him to spill the bag of his special stuff on the floor.  
  
The vehicle swerved and nearly collided with a convertible to its left. The driver yelled out something rude and flashed them the finger before speeding off. The car behind them blared its horn but also fortunately slammed on the brakes. There were a few more honks of displeasure from other motorists.  
  
"Are you trying to get us killed??" Matt demanded after he had successfully disentangled himself from the map that had somehow wrapped around him during the brief incident.  
  
Mick had gotten the van under control and miraculously flashed Matt an unfazed smile. "Killed? Nah. Can't have that happening, now would it? Vince would have a fit, losing seven of his guys like that!"  
  
"Yo dawg, the fuck was dat all about???" Cena growled as he pushed himself back onto the seat. From beside him, Jericho was glaring daggers in Mick's direction.  
  
"You're a menace on the road!" Rene exclaimed. "You should have let me drive!"  
  
"Hey, last I checked the French weren't any better, so I'm not taking any chances!" Matt snapped back immediately. He turned to Foley. "Mick, stop the van. I'm going to drive from now on."  
  
"Must you?" Spanky immediately piped up in a worried voice, vaguely recalling the time that he had seen Matt, Shannon and Crash pile into a rental car once, and Matt had promptly backed it into a tree.  
  
Before Matt could reply to that a siren sounded out. "Um, guys?" Helms spoke up, pointing behind them. "We have company. I don't think the authorities were big fans of what just happened."  
  
"Great, just what we need!" Cena said as he glanced back at the patrol car. "The cops! What do we say when they ask about him?" he jerked his head in the struggling Jericho's direction.  
  
"He's not our only problem," Rob said, speaking up since the incident. "I don't think any of the officers would be happy to see Mary Jane in the van."  
  
"Mary Jane?" Spanky remarked naively. "We don't have anyone with that name in the car. Who's Mary Jane?"  
  
"He means marijuana, you idiot!" Matt said from the front.  
  
Mick turned and groaned, noticing for the first time the spilt bag of Rob's special stuff on the van floor. "Did you have to bring that?" he complained. "All right, here's what we do. Rob, hide as much of that shit as you can, make sure it can't be seen from the windows. John, see if you and Rene can shove Jericho in the back along with the bags so he isn't seen."  
  
Jericho let out an incredulous, "MMPH??" before Cena and Rene somehow managed to hoist him up and with Gregory's help, tossed him roughly into the back where he gave a pained groan. Spanky quickly covered him up with a sheet. Rob, in the meantime, busied himself with sweeping the stuff back in to the bag, and then, after some quick deliberation, stuffed it down his pants. Hopefully the police wouldn't think of looking in there.  
  
Mick finally slowed the van down to a stop. The seven of them were pretty still, with the exception of a fidgeting Jericho. Annoyed, Spanky climbed into the back and sat on him, astoundingly managing to keep him quiet.  
  
Footsteps sounded and the face of one of the highway traffic patrol appeared at Mick's window, his clichéd large, mirrored sunglasses making him look even lankier than he really was. "Sir, have you any idea how fast you were going?" he asked Mick in a drawling voice.  
  
"It couldn't have been more than seventy, max, officer," Mick replied politely.  
  
The cop looked disappointed. "Er, right," he said, making Rene roll his eyes a little bit. "And that's all and well within the speed limit, but the fact that you swerved around right now and nearly hit seven incoming cars was pretty reckless. You haven't been drinking now, have you?"  
  
"No sir," Mick replied, still as polite. "In fact, I'd be happy to take a breathalyzer test right now."  
  
At that point Jericho made a rather loud moan, even through the gag. Spanky quickly cut him off with a sharp boot to the head. The officer looked sharply in the direction of the back, prompting Spanky to give him the most angelic of smiles. The rest of the other guys took that as a cue to do the same.  
  
The cop was still scratching his head suspiciously when his partner came puffing up, a portly man who seemed to be bursting out of his uniform. "What are you taking so long for? I thought you said that this would only take a minute tops…" he trailed off when he saw who was in the van. "Hang on, you're Mick Foley!" he exclaimed.  
  
Mick grinned. A fan. This was going to be easier than it first looked. "Yep, that's me."  
  
"I'm a big fan of yours! Hey, would you mind signing my hat?" the heavyset cop asked, taking of his hat and handing it to Mick along with a marker he conveniently pulled out of his shirt pocket.  
  
"Not at all," Mick said. "I'll get the other guys to sign it too, how about that?"  
  
"That would be great!" he said, beaming, despite looks from his disgruntled partner. "I've got four daughters and they're all WWE-crazy. Too bad you don't have that one guy, what was his name? Chris Jericho. My eldest would have been so happy."  
  
At the mention of his name Jericho started moving again. Spanky knocked him in the ribs and then reached over to sign the hat.  
  
"Yeah, that is a shame," Matt said with mock sympathy.  
  
"Are you quite done?" the lanky cop asked in annoyance.  
  
"Yeah, fine, fine, I am," The other said as she placed the hat back on his head. He turned back to Mick. "Hey, listen, we'll let you off this once with just a warning, okay?"  
  
"We are??" his surly partner gasped.  
  
"Yeah, they're busy fellows, probably hurrying to another show and just got a little confused there," the portly cop said as Mick nodded amiably. He grinned around at everybody. "Well, good luck on getting to your destination, and with the show. Come on," he motioned to his partner.  
  
The gangly one wasn't as trusting as the first. He took another distrustful look around the inside of the van. It was then that he noticed the doubtfully large bulge in RVD's pants. Rob shifted a little uncomfortably but the smile never left his face.  
  
"Notice something interesting, officer?" Mick asked.  
  
That prompted the cop to scowl more. He was about to say something when his partner called to him again. "Come ON, let them go this once!"  
  
Finally he pulled back and begrudgingly motioned Mick along. "Thanks officers, and have a nice day!" Mick called, honking as he drove off.  
  
Once the two cops and their patrol car had disappeared from sight, everybody let out the collective breath they had been holding. "Rob, you better fucking get rid of that shit, and fast," Matt said, turning around to see RVD fishing out the bag from his pants.  
  
"Dude, I can't, like, smoke everything down in minutes you know," Rob told him, a bewildered look on his face.  
  
"No problem, man, I'll help," Cena immediately offered.  
  
"No!" Gregory Helms quickly reprimanded. "As if tying and hiding Chris Jericho from the authorities is bad enough, smoking pot in this same vehicle is just going to make things worse!"  
  
"So what're we supposed to do with this?" Rob asked, holding up the bag.  
  
"Not to mention this," Spanky said, gesturing to the bundle that was Chris Jericho, who was now indignantly trying to shake the rookie off of him. He succeeded and Spanky fairly flew back into his place.  
  
"Rob, dump the weed and put Jericho back in his place," Mick said.  
  
"Right, dump Jericho and put the weed back into its place," Rob said with a nod.  
  
"ROB!!" Mick, Matt, Rene and Helms yelled at him.  
  
"Just kidding, dudes," Rob said with an infuriating grin on his face. "No need to get all your panties in a bunch."  
  
After grunts, groans, and more expletives they managed to hoist a very irate Jericho back into his place and Rob had stuffed the bag down his pants once again, under instructions from Mick that they would dump it the moment they took a rest stop. But as of the moment they plodded along.  
  
**cont'd  
**  
Well that was one disaster successfully avoided. Will they be so lucky in the next few chapters? Will Jericho get out of those bonds? Will Rob dump the weed? Will they really let the Frenchman drive? Stay tuned for the next chapter, in the unlikely even that some of these questions will be answered! 


	3. Nature Calls and Superheroic Deeds

  
  
A chapter a day until I hit eight, which was the last section I uploaded. Never fear, the ninth chapter is in good progress. Here is part three, though, and I hope that you enjoy it.  
  
Date Uploaded: 10 September 2004  
  
** Nature Calls and Super Heroic Deeds**  
  
Spanky fidgeted. Nobody noticed.  
  
Another two hours had gone by, and so far the most damaging thing that had happened in that span of time was Matt Hardy and John Cena arguing about which radio station to listen to. Matt had wanted modern rock, Cena wanted hip-hop. Their fight was cut off when Mick popped a tape into the stereo that immediately started blaring out Britney Spears' 'Anticipating.' Jericho had endured the pain for about two seconds before attempting to throw himself off the vehicle again.  
  
Thankfully Rob dissuaded Mick from keeping the tape on, pointing out that a group of teenagers driving by had heard the music and promptly mooned them. Mick had shrugged and turned it to a well-balanced radio station, satisfying both Matt and John.  
  
Right now Rob had fallen asleep and Gregory was in the middle of reading a comic book. Mick was narrating something about a detail back in the second World War that was about as important as who trimmed Hitler's mustache, and Matt was trying to find a opening in which to tell him to shut up. Jericho, still bound and gagged, tried not to nod off, seeing as if he did he'd either fall on Cena or Rob, and neither of the two were very appealing. Rene was absorbed in trying to fit the showing of the next Lord of the Rings movie into his gym and workout-cluttered schedule. Cena was thinking up of new rhymes to use in the next house show.  
  
As for Spanky, well, he was squirming. Nature was calling.  
  
"Spanky, stop it," Rene suddenly said to him, not even looking up from what he was doing. "You knock my elbow again and I'll use YOU as a writing tool."  
  
"Sorry, but-"  
  
"Do I look like I care?" Rene cut him off rudely, penciling in something in his organizer.  
  
"… And that was how General Rickensteinersham ended up landing on the shores of Guatemala, instead of a port in Portugal like he originally intended," Mick said to an uninterested Matt, who had long mastered the art of sleeping with his eyes open.  
  
"That's great, Mick," Matt said, finally rousing himself. "But you think you can shut up now? I wanted to learn about that as much as I wanted to know that Sable's actually been having more than a casual business partnership with A-Train."  
  
"Those rumors are true?" Mick said, raising an eyebrow.  
  
That made Cena look up. "Dude, that shit is wack," he promptly declared. "Can you imagine such a fine-looking woman such as that shacking up with-"  
  
"I don't want to imagine!!" Matt screamed, interrupting him.  
  
Rene lifted his head as well. "Did I hear right? Sable? Fine-looking?" he let out a mocking laugh. "John, I have no idea how many times you've been hit on the head to have such a skewed view of women."  
  
"Tell me about it," Mick said with a grin. "I've been knocked around loopy more times that Vince has cheated on Linda, but I still know the difference between ageless beauty and one that's been touched up with Botox."  
  
Rene laughed, but stopped when Spanky fidgeted again. "Spanky, I mean it, STOP MOVING or I'll stuff you into the fucking glove compartment!"  
  
"I can't help it!!" Spanky finally burst out. He suddenly bolted to the front, stepping on both Gregory and Rene to do so, and clambered right all over a protesting Jericho, making Rob wake up as well. "Mick, can we stop at the next gas station??" he asked frantically.  
  
"Of course," Mick said. "Why?"  
  
"Three bottles of soda finally caught up to my bladder," Spanky explained.  
  
Matt had pulled out the map again, which both he and Mick finally had understood after pondering over it for another thirty minutes. "You're out of luck, Spanky. The next gas station's in about seventy miles. You're going to have to wait another hour or so to take a leak."  
  
Spanky groaned. "I can't hold it in anymore!!" he exclaimed.  
  
"If you're really that desperate then go on the side of the road," Rob slurred out, rubbing his eyes.  
  
Rene looked appalled at the thought. "You can't be serious. That's completely unhygienic."  
  
"Well if you're looking at it from a momma's boy point of view, yeah it is," Rob said, making Rene glare at him. "But if it really can't wait then go for it."  
  
"Yeah, besides, we've been the only ones on the road for the past half an hour," Helms pointed out, closing his notebook for the moment. "I'm sure nobody would notice if we pulled over for a moment."  
  
Spanky gave Mick a pleading look. Mick laughed. "All right, fine, time for a bathroom break!" he said, pulling over to the side of the road.  
  
The moment the vehicle slowed down, Spanky flung the door open and, not waiting for it to stop, bolted from the van and disappeared into the trees. "Hey, don't get lost out der!!" Cena called out to him. "I don't wanna be combing this goddamn forest to find your sorry ass!!"  
  
Mick parked the van. "I'm going to go out and stretch my legs," he said, getting out.  
  
By and by the rest of the other guys thought that was a good idea too, so they all stumbled out, stretching, flexing, and trying to work out the cramps that had emerged. All except, of course, Chris Jericho, who was left to stew in the van.  
  
He watched, enraged, as Mick launched once again into another story, making Matt, Rene and Cena groan and mimic punching him out. After a while they were almost out of sight of the van.  
  
That put an idea into Jericho's head. Moving stiffly, seeing as being tied up like a goddamn cocoon didn't leave you with much leeway, he managed to jump out of the open door. He then proceeded to hop away bit by bit, thinking that if he got lucky he could find a phone or some people camping in the woods to help him. If he didn't well, it was better to die out here than to have to listen to another one of Mick's stories or Rob snore again.  
  
**»»»**  
  
Spanky, in the meantime, had run off as far as he dared into the woods. Why did he go off so far? Well, simply because he had a shy bladder. He knew that he most probably wouldn't be able to go if he even thought that one of the guys might sneak up on him and play some stupid practical joke with a video camera or something.  
  
The cruiserweight had chosen the perfect tree to do the deed, and just as he had unzipped his pants he heard a branch snap behind him. Turning his upper body around slowly, he looked at what kind of company he had.  
  
It was a deer. A graceful, lithe doe with large, doleful eyes. It stared at Spanky.  
  
Spanky stared back. You know how deer have a tendency to look at something as if transfixed, never taking its eyes off it, even it that thing happens to be a highway truck speeding right in its direction? That's what this doe was doing to Spanky right now. It gazed at him as if awestruck by the fact that the blonde WWE superstar was standing in front of a tree with his pants undone.  
  
And that, of course, posed problems for Spanky. There was no way he was going to get his business done, not with that fucking deer staring at him like that.  
  
"Hey, come on, go away, will you??" he hissed at it impatiently. It didn't budge. He kicked some twigs in its direction. It moved a little but went right on gawking. Spanky's bladder felt like it would explode, but he couldn't will himself to do anything at this rate.  
  
Fortunately he was saved, somewhat. A shot was fired, taking off part of the bark of the tree nearest to the doe. The deer sprang off, and Spanky might have bolted as well if not for the fact that his legs had turned to stone from shock.  
  
"Damnit!!" a gruff voice cursed. Spanky slowly turned the other way to see an older man in a hunter's outfit making his way over. His shotgun was smoking to his side. "Missed again!"  
  
"Wha-?"  
  
The man then turned to Spanky, as if noticing for the first time that he was there. "Huh, and to think I thought it was just me and the guys out here for the weekend," he said, leaning the neck of the shotgun on his shoulder. "What're you doing out here, boy?"  
  
"Uh, um, taking a piss?" Spanky replied intelligently.  
  
The man scratched his head, probably also just taking in Spanky's awkward position against the tree at that moment. "Oh. Well then I reckon you're about done."  
  
Spanky looked and saw that he had finished. His bladder must have let go due to the fright at hearing a gunshot so close. He blushed and then quickly did up his pants again.  
  
"So you camping here too?" the man asked.  
  
"Uh, no, I'm just riding with a couple of co-workers of mine to Phoenix," Spanky answered, turning around after he was done. "We're basically just passing through."  
  
"Well then you're up for a pretty long drive," he said. "Say, there's this rumor that's been circulating lately about a crazed hitchhiker. Supposedly this guy begs off a ride to the next town from some gullible fool, and then the next thing you know police find the poor schmuck's vehicle off the side of the road with the owner dead at the steering wheel. There's no sign of the hitchhiker."  
  
"Isn't that an urban legend?" Spanky commented.  
  
"Call it whatever you like," the man told him. "Just be careful on that road, you hear? Now you better get out of here with your co-workers before one of my friends mistake them for deer and open fire. You know how the mind sometimes plays tricks on you."  
  
Spanky swallowed nervously, stammered a goodbye and then fled, making his way back to the van as fast as he could.  
  
**»»»**  
  
While that had been happening Jericho had somehow gotten himself pretty deep in the woods already, a miracle since he could barely move. He was set to take another hop when all of a sudden a bullet whizzed into the air and took a branch of the tree beside him.  
  
Jericho gave a muffled shriek and turned, quickly hopping in a comical fashion back to where he had come from. Footsteps were scrambling over. "Finally happened on a deer! Biggest buck I've ever seen! Get back here, you little shit, I don't want to be wasting anymore bullets!!"  
  
Hunters!! Jericho cursed in his head as he moved away as fast as he could. Just his luck to stumble upon a half-crazed one. He jumped to one side, lost his footing and suddenly plunged right down the incline, hitting small trees and bushes as he went.  
  
Right at the foot of that particular incline, Mick and Rob were standing with the other guys. There was a small lake and Mick was in the middle of imploring Rob to toss the weed into it. "Hurry up, Robbie. We've heard two gunshots already, meaning hunters are within the vicinity. It's better if we get out of here quickly."  
  
Rob had been doing a pretty good job of stalling and the shots hadn't fazed him a bit. Hey, like he said, everything was cool when you're R-V-D. He was about to tell Mick to chill out for about the sixty-eighth time since they got to the lake when all of a sudden something hurtled from the trees and splashed into the water, completely drenching both Rob and Mick.  
  
"What in the HELL was that??" Mick exclaimed.  
  
Rob merely shook a couple of drops form his hair. "Cool," he stated.  
  
Rene, John, Matt and Gregory rushed over. "We heard a splash, what's going on??" Matt asked.  
  
John squinted. "Shit, it's Chris!!" he said to them, catching a glimpse of Jericho's blonde hair. The Undisputed Chumpstain of the World was in the middle of thrashing in the lake in a futile attempt not to drown.  
  
"He must have sneaked out of the van when we were gone," Matt said. "Who left the door open?"  
  
All of them turned to Rene. The Frenchman blinked innocently. "I thought he could use some air." he looked around. "Hey, where's Helms?"  
  
Before anybody could answer that, something else flew out from the trees behind them. "Never fear, Citizen Jericho, I'll save you!!" said none other than everybody's favorite superhero, The Hurricane. He took two steps and then dived into the water.  
  
"I'll say one thing for dat guy, he works pretty fast," Cena said as they watched him swim over to Chris Jericho.  
  
Hurricane reached Chris Jericho and managed to pull the sock out of his mouth. At once Jericho's voice echoed through the entire forest. "You first-grade JACKASSES!!! What's the big idea with tying me up and leaving me to be hunter bait in this fucking hellhole away from decent civilization??? Get me out of here, Tornado, so that when I'm on dry land I can kick ALL your collective asses!!!"  
  
"I sure wish he hadn't taken the gag out," Mick said.  
  
Hurricane, finding Jericho to be too hard to manage, decided to just cut off his bonds and let the griping blonde swim to shore by himself. He undid Chris' ties and then slipped it off him. Jericho, elated at being able to use his limbs again, forgot for a moment that he was in water and sank. He was sputtered to the surface again before Hurricane could fetch him, and the two of them started to swim over to the five others waiting on land.  
  
Rene and Mick pulled out Hurricane while Matt and Cena heaved Jericho out. Rob, deciding to take advantage of the distraction, stuffed the bag of weed down his pants again.  
  
"Jericho, if you really wanted to take a swim that bad, why didn't you just tell us?" Mick said with a good-humored grin.  
  
Matt and Rene stopped Chris from strangling him. "Mike, I'm going to rip your throat out and stuff it with Socko and see how you like it!!"  
  
"Speaking of Socko…" Mick turned to have Hurricane hand the soggy sock puppet back to Mick.  
  
"Another tragedy has been averted," Hurricane said. "But the next time there is danger, never fear, the Hurricane shall be there!" and with that the green superhero retreated into the forest.  
  
The others waited for a moment, and sure enough about a minute later Gregory appeared. He stopped and looked at them. "I took a bathroom break too," was his excuse.  
  
"All over yourself?" Matt commented dryly, gesturing to his wet clothes.  
  
"No," Gregory said stiffly. "I did it near further down the lake and almost fell right in. Did anything happen when I was gone?"  
  
Jericho narrowed his eyes. "Nothing, junior, absolutely nothing." He said, pushing past him on the way back to the van.  
  
When the seven of them reached in they found Spanky leaning on the door, waiting expectantly and looking a little wary. He perked up upon seeing them. "Hey, I half expected that you guys would be lost in the woods by now. I was about to go after-why are you four wet?" he asked, looking at Jericho, Mick, Rob and Gregory.  
  
"Long story, little bro," Rob said as they all started piling inside again.  
  
Spanky seemed to shrug it off and went inside, Jericho shoving him in impatiently. This time Matt took the wheel and they were off again.  
  
**cont'd**  
  
So much for bathroom breaks. Will the wrestlers proceed with the trip without anymore mishaps? Eh, probably not, seeing as that would be boring. Is the story of the hitchhiker true or merely an urban legend? Will Jericho ever shut up now that he's regained his ability to talk and move around? Will anybody notice that Rob still has the weed? What is Gregory's tie to the Hurricane? Yeah, not even I'm dense enough not to know the answer to that last one. Watch out for the next chapter! 


	4. Your Friendly Local Inconvenience Store

This is starting to look much longer than I had first intended it to be. Oh well, at least I'm having fun. It's a break from my other mary sues and interactive fics. Here it is.  
  
Date Uploaded: 12 September 2004  
  
** Your Friendly Local Inconvenience Store**  
  
" _… sometimes I feel like I have failed/ inside where do I begin/ my mind is laughing at me…_ "  
  
" _… he goes home and barely knows his own daughter/ but hold your nose coz here goes the cold water/ these hos don't want him no more he's cold product…_ "  
  
" _… I am the one who chose my path/ I am the one who couldn't last…_ "  
  
"Damnit, bitch, quit it!"  
  
" _…You better lose yourself in the music/ the moment you own it you better never let it go, oh/ you only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow…_ "  
  
"When I want to rend my brain retarded, jackass, we'll listen to that rap shit!!"  
  
" _… I DID MY TIME… I DID MY-_ "  
  
"You call dat a fuckin' beat? Get your hand off the goddamn stereo, fool!"  
  
" _… all the pain inside amplified by the/ fact that I can't get by with my nine to five/ and I can't provide the right type of life for my family/ coz man these goddamn…_ "  
  
"No way we're listening to that! You back off the radio!!"  
  
" _… tell me why am I to blame/ aren't we supposed to be the same/ that's why I will never change…_ "  
  
" _… formulate a plot/ or end up in jail or not/ success is my only motherfcking option, failure's not/ momma love you but this trailer's got to go/ I cannot grow old in Salem's lot…_ "  
  
" _… why not take a crazy chance?/ why not do a crazy dance…_ "  
  
John Cena and Chris Jericho stopped dead in the middle of their fight, Chris having John in a headlock and John pulling Chris' hair, to give Foley an incredulous look. Even Gregory, Rene and Spanky stopped what they were doing to do the same. Only Rob seemed not to care and Matt simply concentrated on watching the road.  
  
"Mike, tell me you did not just pop a tape of that Lizzie McGuire movie bubblegum pop theme song into the stereo," Jericho said in an even voice.  
  
"Oh, so you saw it too?" Mick said, grinning at him. "I saw it with the kids. Noelle absolutely loved it. Catchy song, don't you think?"  
  
"Mick, where'd ya get dat ghey tape from hell, man?" Cena asked in horror as he and Chris finally let go of each other. "I mean first Britney Spears and now dis shit?"  
  
"Hey, this is Noelle's tape," Mick said, looking offended. "Are you telling me that my daughter has bad taste in music?"  
  
"No, Mick, that's perfectly fine for a seven-year-old girl!" Spanky called from the back. "But when grown men play it it's pretty disturbing!"  
  
"You guys have got to let go of all this macho bravado crap and just be yourself," Mick said, still grinning.  
  
"Right, in the unlikely event that any of us come out of the closet, we'll inform you," Jericho spat out, reaching over and popping the tape back out. He tossed it to the back where the baggage was, except his aim was a bit off and he nearly poked out Rene's eye. Rene growled but miraculously let it go.  
  
Matt, his eyes still never leaving the road, flicked the stereo to a different station.  
  
" _… you're running away/ you wouldn't believe what the kids see today/ it's just porn, mom/ and it won't go away/ wherever you turn you'll find porn everyday/ billboards on the way to school use porn to make their shit look really cool…_ "  
  
As if to punctuate that point they drove past a huge sideway ad that had a half-naked lady looking provocatively from the sign. It was for Guess jeans. You could vaguely tell from the three inches in the background that can be seen that she was actually wearing jeans. Her face and ample bust basically took every other single inch of space, though.  
  
"That looks more like an ad for breast augmentation," Rene mused.  
  
"Hey Kendrick, Helms, cover your eyes, you wouldn't want to corrupt your innocence, now would you?" Jericho snickered, settling more comfortably back into his seat.  
  
"Screw you, Chris," Spanky immediately shot back.  
  
"Watch it, rookie, I haven't forgiven you for sitting on me and kicking me on the head back when we were stopped," Jericho snarled at him.  
  
"Will you guys cut it out back there?" Matt snapped from his place. "Only you idiots would think of picking fights in an enclosed space such as this!"  
  
"That's because we've been driving for three hours. We're getting restless, junior!" Jericho turned to see Rob leaning back lazily in his seat, eyes half closed with one of his idle smiles on his face. "Except for Mr. Natural High here. Rob, what in the hell did you take now? Never mind, don't tell me, I don't want to know."  
  
"Now I wish I hadn't pulled that sock out of his mouth," Gregory muttered.  
  
"Did you say sumthin'?" Cena asked, looking back at him.  
  
"Nothing," Gregory immediately said.  
  
Jericho didn't seem to hear him, too engrossed with the fact that Rob seemed to have something unusually bulky down his pants. "Van Scam, you sure you didn't pop a couple of Viagra pills with your usual batch of 'medicine' today?"  
  
"Dude, are you checking out my package?" Rob asked in his usual straightforward manner.  
  
"WHAT??" Jericho burst out, annoyed at the fact that everybody started laughing.  
  
"I'd say that's as out of the closet I'm going to get from you, Chris!" Mick said, gleefully. "Somebody get me back my tape!"  
  
"Mike, you stick that tape back in and I'll make you eat it!!" Chris snapped at him. He turned back to a laughing Rob. "What the hell are you snickering at? Don't flatter yourself, junior, it's not THAT impressive!"  
  
"It caught your attention, didn't it?"  
  
"Listen ass clown, if I were a chick I wouldn't even consider the thought of screwing you!!"  
  
"Okay, that was a little more than I wanted to hear," Matt said, suddenly swinging the vehicle into the parking lot of a convenience store by the road. He did it a bit more forcefully than he intended and that ended up making the people in the two seats behind him fall flat on top of each other.  
  
Jericho of course landed on RVD. "Not here!!" Rob joked, although a bit painfully as Chris had landed on his side.  
  
"Fuck you, jackass!!" Jericho yelled at him.  
  
"Wasn't that the idea?" Spanky commented.  
  
Mick shook his head. "And I thought all those road trips with Al Snow were bad enough."  
  
"Matt, why did we stop here?" Gregory asked after Rene had shoved him back over to his side of the van.  
  
Matt had already stepped out of the van. "To get provisions," he simply said. Of course what he meant was to take a break from you rioting idiots and closet budding homosexuals, not to mention keep his sanity intact. He slammed the door shut and stalked inside the store.  
  
By and by the others followed him in. There were two store clerks at the counter; a blonde who was idly playing with her hair while looking at her nails and popping bubblegum, and a pimply-faced teenage boy who was staring at her in apparent adoration. Neither of them looked up as they guys came in.  
  
Jericho of course headed for the chips section, immediately loading his arms with bags of the fattening stuff, and instructing Spanky to grab some sodas from the coolers. "Let's hope dat idiot has cash on him," Cena said to Matt as the two of them joined Chris and Spanky.  
  
Gregory spotted the magazines and comics rack and went to look through the latest issue of X-Men or Batman or whatever comic he happened to pick up. Mick went over as well and began to browse through the pro-wrestling magazines showcasing indie feds and wrestlers. Rene, disgusted with the fact that Jericho and the others were getting snacks that could destroy his perfectly chiseled physique and make his flawless skin break out into zits, began to browse through the healthier stuff.  
  
Rob went for the beer. Mick had seemed hesitant to let him do so at first, but he decided that it would be fine as long as they didn't drink in that car.  
  
"For tonight, man," Rob said to him, passing by with a crate. "We're not seriously going to be driving around the entire night, are we?" he dropped it onto the counter, startling the boy clerk but the chick merely looked up in a bored fashion.  
  
Seeing Rob, she immediately put on a bright smile and fluttered her eyelashes flirtatiously at him. "You boys having a party tonight?"  
  
"Nah, I just wanna get wasted," Rob answered easily.  
  
"Sounds like fun anyway," she said, leaning over suggestively so that he could get an even better view of her not so impressive cleavage. A bit of tissue was peaking out in one corner too.  
  
Jericho suddenly came up and dropped his horrendous stash of chips onto the counter top. "Trust you to get the booze," he remarked dryly to Rob. He looked at the girl. "Hey chick, you're popping out. You'd interest a man with a severe cold, for obvious reasons."  
  
"What-" she looked down her front and immediately turned a crimson red. Then muttering to herself she dashed into the back.  
  
"Little harsh, don't you think?" Spanky chastised as he put four huge jugs of soda on the counter.  
  
"Junior, I would pay the chick to get a proper boob job," Jericho said in a bored voice. He turned to the other clerk. "Hey kid, ring this up for us."  
  
The young clerk, probably mulling over if he actually had the guts to stand up to a guy obviously thrice his size in order to defend his source of infatuation, began to nervously stammer. "Y-y-y-you c-c-can't t-t-t-talk t-t-to h-h-her-"  
  
"Spit it out, junior!!" Jericho snapped at him. By this time the other guys had come up to the cash register as well.  
  
The teen recoiled, then screwed up every ounce of his courage again to blurt out what he meant to say, when he was cut off by the unmistakable click of a gun. All of them froze and then slowly turned around.  
  
A grungy-looking guy with longish, unkempt brown hair and looking no older than twenty was pointing a pistol in their direction. "All right, nobody moves and nobody gets hurt."  
  
"Bullshit, we're bein' robbed!" Cena exclaimed.  
  
"Not us, jackass, the store!" Jericho said. "Hey kid, take everything in the till, just spare me! Here, you can even take Sammy here, we'll throw him in for free." He shoved Spanky forward.  
  
"Very funny!" Spanky protested, shoving Jericho, who promptly shoved him back.  
  
"Listen, son, maybe we can talk this over," Mick started, looking eager to reason with the practically crazed-looking thief. "You don't want to be doing this, and besides, this is a small convenience store that hardly anyone comes by. I'm sure that they don't have much in the premises…"  
  
"Shut UP!!" the robber said, looking irritable and ever so slightly stoned. He motioned to the clerk with his gun. "All right, put all the money in a paper bag."  
  
"We're out of p-p-p-p-paper b-b-b-bags," The clerk stammered. "W-w-w-will a p-p-p-plastic bag be f-f-f-fine?"  
  
"Yeah, just hurry the fuck up, all right??" he yelled at him.  
  
At that moment the female clerk decided to return to the scene, having seemingly made up her mind to bitch off to the arrogant blonde at the register. She hadn't counted on coming upon the robbery taking place. She took one look at the gun and gave a scream that could have shattered the glass doors of the freezers.  
  
"GodDAMNit, shut the FUCK up, bitch!!" the agitated mugger yelled at her, swinging the gun in her direction. She gave a whimper and immediately pulled the other clerk in front of her, who looked like he would black out from fear himself.  
  
"This is ridiculous," Gregory muttered to himself. "There's no phone booth or secluded area to change, and the civilians involved…"  
  
"What are you saying??" Rene hissed at him.  
  
"Nothing," Gregory immediately said, cutting himself off again.  
  
"Keep putting the money in the fucking plastic bag!" the robber ordered. He looked at the eight wrestlers, apparently not recognizing any of them, but then his eyes fell on Rob. Rob stood apart from the rest of the guys in the store simply because he wasn't quivering in fear upon seeing a gun in the mugger's unstable hand. Quite the contrary, he was just looking at the robber with one of his usual smiles on his face.  
  
That seemed to make the mugger put two and two together. "Hey you, you wouldn't happen to have some weed on you, would you? Or in the very least a couple of valium? Anything to keep my freakin' hands from shaking!"  
  
"Nope," Rob said, lying through his teeth. "I'm afraid I'm just fresh out, my man."  
  
At that point Mick was incredibly sorry that he had goaded Rob into tossing the weed into the lake. But then he remembered Jericho saying something about Rob's pants. He looked down and noticed that Rob still did have an unusually large bulge down there. "Rob! You rat, you didn't toss the goddamn thing like I told you too, didn't you??"  
  
"Mick, what makes you think I would disobey you like that, dude?" Rob said, doing his best to look offended but failing miserably.  
  
Much to the surprise of the mugger and the two shop clerks, the first ever Hardcore champion and father of three at once tried to make a grab for Mr. One of a Kind's crotch area. "Give it up! It's still in there, isn't it?? Take it out right now!!"  
  
"Seriously, dude, first Jericho and then now you? Will you all quit grabbing at my pants??" Rob said, trying to keep Mick away.  
  
Flabbergasted, the mugger snapped out of his stupor and stepped forward threateningly. "Quit it, all of you!!" he screamed. He brought the pistol to Rob's head, only Rob flailed forward and little bit and accidentally batted it out of his hand. The pistol went sailing through the air and landed neatly on the counter.  
  
It was quiet as they all looked at it. Mick still had his hand on Rob's pants and Rob had an arm around Mick's neck. And then the male clerk picked it up and pointed it at the mugger. "A-a-a-a-all right, pal, g-get l-l-lost."  
  
The mugger looked at him for a moment, and then laughed. "You expect me to be scared, you dweeb? The fucking thing isn't even loaded!"  
  
That was obviously not the smartest thing to say right then, as ten pairs of angry eyes turned to him.  
  
Minutes later the now battered would-be robber sailed right out of the window, screaming as he plunged into some bushes.  
  
Rene and John dusted their hands off in good riddance as they turned back to the others. "Now can we get out of here?" Spanky asked them.  
  
"Right, just have to grab all of these," Jericho turned to the register again. Of course by this time the female clerk had joyously declared her co-employee her hero and was now in the process of seeing how far down her tongue would go down his throat. Jericho cleared his throat impatiently, but Matt, fed up and not looking forward to another altercation with the preoccupied teenagers, slapped some cash onto the counter.  
  
"Let's go," he said, grabbing a majority of the stuff.  
  
The eight of them lugged their purchased goods outside and into the van. After a small argument it was settled that Spanky would be the next one to drive. The eight of them piled in and once more set off.  
  
**cont'd**  
  
If I remember correctly the songs used here were 'Did My Time' by KoRn, 'Lose Yourself' by Eminem, 'Why Not' by Hillary Duff and 'It's Just Porn, Mom' by Trucks. So the troublesome eight are back on the road again, this time stacked up with an ungodly amount of snacks and sodas to keep them sugar high until tomorrow morning. Will Cena and Jericho once again start a bitch fight about the radio station? Will Mick try to scavenge his daughter's tape from the back? Will we ever be rid of horrendously painful pop teenyboppers? What did Gregory mean about a phone booth and civilians nearby? What about the freakin' WEED?? It's still down there, isn't it?? Will I stop with the homosexual puns and jests? What other shit will I write the eight into? Ah, that you'll just have to see!


	5. A Roadside Motel

  
  
I think I may have been slightly uninspired when writing this chapter, as evidenced by my cranky author's note in the original document. Now that I've gone over it I may be inclined to agree. Read at your own risk.  
  
Date Uploaded: 13 September 2004  
  
**A Roadside Motel**  
  
One obvious downside to having bought twelve jumbo-sized bottles of soda was the fact that it kept the guys awake and horribly sugar high. Even when it hit a quarter past eleven in the evening, all of them were still jumping around, with the exception of Rob, who never showed an abundance of any emotion whatsoever, and Rene, who had had none of the soda, as he was one of those annoying health buffs.  
  
And it so happened that it was Rene driving. He wasn't the most proficient driver in the bunch, but fortunately nothing detrimental had happened while he was at the wheel. He did give a rather huge yawn, though, causing Jericho, who now happened to be in the front passenger seat, to look at him. "Way past your bedtime, junior?"  
  
"Shut up," Rene simply told him through blinking eyes.  
  
"Hey guys, I think the Frenchman's about to drop off any minute now," Jericho said, turning to everybody else in the back. "Anybody else want to drive?"  
  
"I'll do it," Rob offered.  
  
"I got no problem wit it either," Cena said as well.  
  
"Oh no you don't!" Mick called from where he was now seated in the back in between Gregory Helms and Rob. He didn't look forward to having someone on a sugar rush or a constant high having the wheel and driving them through the night. "I think we should stop for the night at a motel or something."  
  
"Are you fucking nuts, Mick?" Matt asked, horrified. "Do you have any idea how unsafe most of the motels along the highway are?"  
  
"I think someone's seen 'Psycho' one too many times," Spanky quipped.  
  
"Shut up, runt," Matt snapped at him.  
  
"Only you, jackass, would be scared of something like that while traveling with seven other guys," Jericho said from the front. "We're eight grown men, well except for Simon over there. Nobody's going to want to mess with us!" he pointed out.  
  
"Said the ego," Matt finished.  
  
"Actually, Matt, I think Mick's idea was quite good, and Chris' point was excellent," Gregory said. "Besides, there hasn't been reports of anything ghastly having happened in this area recently, so we should be fairly all right."  
  
Something seemed to click in Spanky's mind about a certain hitchhiker, but he pushed the thought away.  
  
"So who's for stopping at a motel for the night, raise your hand!" Mick said. All but Matt put their hands up in the air.  
  
"You lose, man," Cena said with a snicker. He caught sight of a motel sign suddenly flashing in the distance. "There's one right now! Hey Dupree, take a right at it, I need to get out of this fucking van!"  
  
"Not to mention use the john!" Spanky added.  
  
"Christ, what the hell kind of bladder do you have on you, kid??" Jericho complained.  
  
Two minutes later the SUV swung into the driveway of the motel. The parking lot was relatively empty, except for about two or three other vehicles. Rene parked the van near the middle of the line of rooms and everybody quickly piled out, Spanky jumping from one foot to another, making Cena snicker again.  
  
"Look, Matt, no house on a hill behind it to house the motel owner's long dead mother," Jericho wisecracked, pointing as he clapped Matt on the back. "I think that means we're safe."  
  
"Very funny," Matt said as they started trooping for the front office. "But if the dude behind the counter is a Norman Bates look-a-like I'm getting back into the van!"  
  
All eight of the wrestlers entered the office, Matt, taking up the rear. To his and everybody else's surprise, the person behind the counter was a bubbly blonde who was happily giggling along with her equally cheerful redheaded girlfriend. They looked up when the guys entered, and immediately flashed identical smiles of greeting. "Hi! Welcome to the McKinney Motel. My name's Tiffany," The blonde said. "This is Laura."  
  
Rene immediately brightened and stepped forward to shake their hands. "I'm Rene Dupree," he introduced himself.  
  
"Ooh, I love your accent. Are you from Canada?" Laura asked.  
  
"No, France," Rene said, looking a bit peeved.  
  
Jericho rolled his eyes and shook his head before shoving Rene out of the way. "Listen, we want just one room for tonight, okay? We're only driving through and we'll be out of here by early morning as well."  
  
"Just one room?" Tiffany said, blinking her blue eyes in confusion. "But our biggest one has just two double beds. Are you sure you guys will fit?"  
  
"We'll manage," Mick cut in, as Jericho started to rethink about taking just one room.  
  
"Well, okay," Tiffany said, shrugging her shoulders. "Let's see, you guys have to sign the logbook, and I know I left it here somewhere…"  
  
"Tif, you're sitting on it," Laura reminded her. Obviously she had more brains than her blonde friend.  
  
"Oh, right!" Tiffany said, giggling girlishly as she stood up and put the thick book down on the counter. "So, like, how will you guys be paying? Cash, credit card?"  
  
"Credit card," Mick said, as he began to pen their names down in the book. "Right, Gregory?"  
  
Gregory Helms looked surprised at that. "Citiz-er, Mick, not to sound rude or even like a cheapskate, but why me?"  
  
"Because I forgot to pay my credit card bill before leaving Seattle," Mick said. "And I don't want to heckle Jericho into doing it, because he'll start bitching again."  
  
"I do NOT bitch!" Jericho bitched at him.  
  
With a sigh Gregory fished his card out from his wallet and handed it to the girls. Tiffany nodded, and then quickly and efficiently swiped it and printed out the receipt for him to sign, not once botching it up. Either she had been trained very efficiently or there was more in that blonde head than one would guess. "You'll take room thirteen," she said to them with a smile. "It's the last one down the front part of the second floor."  
  
"There's a TV and a VCR there in case you get bored," Laura added helpfully.  
  
"Sweet," Cena said as they started trekking out, Rene giving the girls one last smile and they waving at him. Cena caught sight of a black, label less videotape on the shelf behind them. "Hey, do ya girls lend out tapes to guests?"  
  
"Sure we do," Tiffany said, indicating the near full shelf. "Like, what do you want to see? Titanic? Pearl Harbor? Murder by Numbers? Ready to Rumble?"  
  
"Er, no," Cena said, wincing at every title she offered, especially the last one. "How about dat one there dat isn't in a case? What's on it?"  
  
Tiffany picked it up. "Gee, I don't know," she said, cocking her head to one side as she looked at it. "Maybe one of our other guests from the past left it by mistake. You want to watch it?"  
  
"Why not?" Cena said, grinning. If he was lucky it was a porn video or something.  
  
"Here you go," Tiffany said, handing it to him. She and Laura smiled at him as he left the office.  
  
Once outside Cena saw that Rene was waiting impatiently for him at the top of the stairs. "Come on, everybody else has grabbed their stuff from the car and gone inside," he said. "Spanky practically wet himself trying to get in. Let's hope he made it to the bathroom," he waited as John went over to the van to get his belongings and then he and Cena continued to room thirteen.  
  
**»»»**  
  
"I'm turning in," Mick said the moment Cena and Rene had stepped inside.  
  
John gave him an incredulous look. "It's barely midnight, dawg!" he exclaimed, dropping his stuff. "C'mon, we got a huge stash of food, sodas, and an entire freakin' crate of beer, and you're telling me dat you're goin' to bed??"  
  
"Yes," Mick said in reply.  
  
"Psh, fine, be dat way, dawg," Cena said in disgust as he hopped onto the couch that faced the TV set. "Hey dudes, who's up for a movie??"  
  
"A movie, junior? Can you be anymore juvenile?" Jericho told him as he sprawled on one of the beds, taking up all the space on it. "The next thing we know you're passing out sugar biscuits like this is some twelve-year-old girl's slumber party!"  
  
"Fine den, diss it all ya like and go to bed like Mick over der," Cena said, popping the tape into the VCR.  
  
"What is it about anyway?" Spanky asked as he jumped onto the couch as well. He had come out of the bathroom about a minute ago and caught the tail end of their conversation.  
  
"If it's some cheesy chick flick count me out," Matt said from where he was tossing his suitcase over the bed. "Then again, if it's porn count me in."  
  
"Porn?" that was what made Jericho look up. "Hey Cena, if that is pornography, maybe you should wait until some of the minors are tucked in, right Sandy?" he said, nodding to Spanky, as well as in the direction of Gregory Helms and Rene Dupree.  
  
"Give me a break," Rene said with a groan.  
  
"I don't know what it is," John said, prompting a groan from Jericho and making the King of Bling-Bling lie back down on the bed. "Da chick at the office jes said dat maybe one of da other customers who stayed over must've left it behind or sumthin,'"hHe grinned. "Wit any luck it's sumthin' good, aiight?"  
  
"Right, like home videos of three-year-old twins at their first day in day care," Matt said sarcastically.  
  
"Or baby Dylan's first haircut," Gregory added with a grin. "There goes one memory down the drain."  
  
"Whatever, dude," Rob said, opening the crate of beer and tossing one to Mick. "As long as it's something we can watch and drink to at the same time."  
  
Seeing as the guys relatively had nothing to do and the temptation of tilting back a few bottles of beer was pretty strong, one by one they all settled in front of the TV, Cena, Spanky and RVD hogging the couch, Jericho on the single armchair and the others kind of sprawled around, Mick in the back on one of the beds. When everybody had a bottle and the junk food was scattered all over the coffee table, Cena reached for the remote and hit play.  
  
At first static was shown, and then a countdown. When it hit zero a series of blurry images started. The first was of a grand manor, with the double iron-wrought gates swinging open as if inviting them inside.  
  
"Whoa," was all Rob said.  
  
"You know guys, I have a feeling this isn't a porn flick," Spanky said, making the others nudge him to keep quiet.  
  
After the mansion some spooky-looking kid's dolls were shown, all with mirror shards in the places where the eyes were supposed to be. Then there was an empty bed with a cross mounted on the wall above it. That was followed by the shadow of a body hanging from the ceiling, and then another body, this time a female in a tub full of her on blood. That faded into an image of a young girl with hair all over her face that in turn washed out into the picture of a well, before disappearing into a ghostly shot of a ring. Then it was all black.  
  
There was a silence among the eight in the room. "That is one of the worst home made movies I've ever seen," Gregory finally said.  
  
At that the phone rang. Spanky jumped involuntarily, and all of them turned to look at it. Seeing as none of the others seemed like they were eager to jump up and answer the phone, Mick sighed and then leaned over and pressed the speaker for it. "Hello?"  
  
"Seven days," achildish voice said ominously, before it diminished into static.  
  
Again there was a short span of silence. All eight of them looked at each other. And then Rene, John Cena, Gregory Helms, Spanky, Matt, Jericho and surprisingly RVD got up and bolted for the door, screaming their lungs out. Only Mick remained in the room, munching on a bag of chips and looking at the tape thoughtfully. He made no move to leave the place and calmly got up to go brush his teeth.  
  
**»»»**  
  
When the seven cowardly wrestlers had burst into the night sky, they made a beeline for the van and after Matt had unlocked it, they piled in. And then without another thought towards Mick or even their luggage, they drove off. Mick heard it. He wasn't worried, though. The moment they realized that they had been stupid enough to leave their stuff they would come back. For the moment he was going to get some shuteye.  
  
And back in the motel reception area, Tiffany, the blonde, took her eyes away from the hidden surveillance camera in room 13 and turned a cheeky smile to her friend Laura. "I like, totally just love doing that!" she bubbled, putting the phone down.  
  
"You are so evil," Laura said with a grin.  
  
"I know!" Tiffany squealed. The two of them shared a good laugh as back in room 13 Mick was seen popping the tape out of the VCR, shrugging before tossing it onto the couch and flicking the lights out.  
  
**cont'd**  
  
If my memory serves me right the clips I took from various horror movies here were 'The Haunting,' 'Red Dragon,' 'The Exorcist,' 'The Blair Witch Project,' 'The Cell' or 'Psycho' and finally 'The Ring.' Yeah, obviously I don't watch a lot of scary movies. Anyway, will the guys come back to get Mick and their stuff? Will they find out that the tape was just a vicious prank? Does Rob still have the weed stuffed down his pants? What else could happen on this night? Ha, plenty! Wait for the next chapter to find out! 


	6. Never Pick Up Strangers

To those who wonder why I seem to fixated about the weed that has been perpetually down Rob's pants, I must say that it does have a point, specifically for this chapter! I don't spend my time wondering about stuff down guys' pants... Okay, I'm going to quit while I'm ahead. Here's the chapter, and I hope that you guys enjoy it.  
  
Date Uploaded: 14 September 2004  
  
** Never Pick Up Strangers**  
  
"Guys, do you realize we forgot Mick?"  
  
"Screw that, junior, do you realize we've forgotten all our fucking stuff??" Jericho exclaimed to Gregory Helms.  
  
The two of them plus Matt, Rob, Rene, Spanky and John Cena had left McKinney Motel about half an hour behind them. Right now the highway they were on inexplicably had no streetlights, and so the entire place was pitch dark save for their high beam headlights. Matt was still at the wheel, and yes, he still looked freaked out.  
  
He wasn't the only one. "Seven days!" Spanky yelled hysterically. "Do you guys understand that?? We only have one more week to live!!"  
  
"Will ya shut up??" Cena snapped at him, chucking the pillow Rob had mistakenly taken from the motel in their hurry to leave. "Nobody here's gonna die, you got that??"  
  
"But if you scream one more time, Brian, that's all going to change!!" Matt threatened from the driver's seat.  
  
Rene had been sitting thoughtfully for the past few minutes, but then he spoke up. "Uh, people, did anybody think about grabbing the tape before we left?"  
  
All of them except Matt and Rob looked at him. "What for?" Gregory asked.  
  
Rene rolled his eyes. "Did any of you actually understand the ending of 'The Ring?' The only way we can get the fucking curse alleviated from us is to make a copy of the tape and show it to somebody else." He said impatiently.  
  
"So you're telling me dat if we go and get some other sucker to watch the tape, we won't have to die?" Cena said. "I knew I should have stuck around for the end of that movie!"  
  
Jericho grabbed Matt's arm. "Turn the vehicle around, jackass! I'll recopy that tape three dozen times if I have to, and show it to the McMahons, Triple H and whoever sorry moron who gets in my way! Just as long as the King of Bling-Bling gets off the hook… I'm much too hot to die!"  
  
"Maybe we should tie him up again, along with Spanky." Cena said.  
  
Spanky looked like he would say something, but then he stopped and sniffed. "You guys smell that?"  
  
All of them stopped. Gregory lifted his head and looked around. He caught a curious and slightly familiar whiff of a substance in air. It was then that he turned in Rob's direction. RVD was the only one in the van who had been quiet since the seven of them had jumped into it previously. Now he realized why. "Rob, what are you doing?"  
  
Rob simply blew a trail of smoke in the air. In one hand he held a joint that he had made much earlier in the day. "Smoking, what on earth does it look like I'm doing?" he answered easily enough. He held out the bag to them. "Want some?"  
  
"Only you could smoke pot when you know you've only got seven days to live!" Spanky yelled at him.  
  
"Rob, this isn't the right time!!" Matt said from the front.  
  
"Au contraire, dude, this is the perfect time." Rob said, grinning. "Think about it. If we've only got seven days, what's the point of eating right, living safely and staying clean and sober? We might as well take advantage of it, am I right?"  
  
"He's got a point, ya know." Cena said thoughtfully.  
  
"Rob, you do know that that's illegal, don't you?" Gregory reminded.  
  
Rob simply shrugged and took another pull. "If you don't want any then suit yourself. More for me."  
  
"Screw this, fork over the bag, pothead." Jericho demanded. "I'm not spending the last seven days of my life in a jail cell because of you. Do you know what would happen to a guy as good-looking as me in there??"  
  
Before Rob could answer him Jericho lunged for the bag. The two of them began to struggle, each trying to get the stash of illegal joysticks away from each other as Rene and Gregory groaned in exasperation. To Matt's horror he suddenly realized that he could faintly see someone off the other side of the road, a tall, imposing figure carrying a large parcel. "Shit, there's somebody out there! It could be a cop on a late shift!"  
  
"Hide the dope!" Jericho immediately ordered. Spanky quickly grabbed the bag, seeing as Rob was caught off guard, and tossed it in the back. "I meant both of them!" Jericho said, pointing to Rob as well.  
  
"Hey guys, really, I can get in the back myself-???" Rob was cut off as Rene, Cena and Jericho tossed him abruptly in the back, making the vehicle give a horrendous jolt.  
  
Matt took a deep breath and slowed a bit. When the headlights focused on the figure on the side of the road, he noticed that it wasn't a police officer. It was just an unshaven man with plain, scruffy clothes, with a package slung over his back. His right thumb was out in the classic hitchhiker stance.  
  
"My bad, it's just a hitchhiker." Matt said with a sigh of relief. He started to speed up again when Gregory stopped him.  
  
"Matt, you're not seriously going to leave that man out there alone in this dead of night, are you?" the mild-mannered reporter asked him.  
  
"Hey, if he found his way out here himself then he should be fine." Matt argued. "Besides, didn't your parents ever teach you anything, Helms? Never pick up strangers."  
  
"What's more, I thought we were going back to get that tape?" Rene reminded.  
  
Gregory shook his head. "Put yourself in his position, guys. Out there, alone, with the possibility of criminals and wild animals running around; wouldn't you want somebody to stop and help you out? It's the humane thing to do."  
  
"He could be a criminal!" Spanky pointed out, suddenly remembering his conversation with the hunter a few hours earlier. "Ever considered that possibility?"  
  
"Can I get out of the back now?" Rob asked, blowing a trail of smoke in the air.  
  
Gregory, exasperated that his companions seemed to lack any human dignity, leaned over to the front to glare at Matt Hardy. "We can at least give him a lift to the motel where he can spend the night."  
  
"Right, if he doesn't skewer us first." Matt snapped back.  
  
"Yeah, do ya know how many serial killers wander around dis place?" John Cena interjected.  
  
"Have a little faith!" Gregory said, jerking at the wheel.  
  
"Forget it, you little gullible, comic book nerd!" Matt yelled, grabbing the wheel back.  
  
"Wholly shit, watch out!!" Cena warned.  
  
Matt and Gregory focused their eyes back on the road, only to scream as the headlights bore down onto the unfortunate hitchhiker. The hiker for his part, turned deathly white under the lights and dove for cover. There was a squeal of tires followed by a sickening thump.  
  
The vehicle stopped. Matt and Gregory looked up and then tried to peer out of the windshield as the other guys slowly recovered.  
  
"Fuck… did we hit him?" Spanky asked incredulously.  
  
"No, junior, WE did not hit him, the TWO ASS CLOWNS fighting over the wheel hit him!!" Jericho immediately said, in an effort not to implicate him in this mess. "That's my testimony and all the rest of us, including the stoner in the back, are sticking to it!"  
  
"We have to see if he's okay." Gregory said.  
  
"We don't have to do anything!" Rene said. "Nobody saw us, right?? We can just drive away and pretend it never happened!" he gave one or two strained laughs. "Come on!"  
  
"That's not cool, man." Rob spoke up, propping himself up from the back.  
  
"What if he's dead?" Spanky asked.  
  
As if to answer that, there was a thump as a hand rose and grabbed onto the side window. All of them, with the exception of a stoned Rob Van Dam, screamed as a face appeared. The hitchhiker, looking shocked yet otherwise unhurt, glared angrily at all their stunned and horrified faces. "You dickheads hit my bag." He growled, holding up the now grotesquely misshapen package that he had been carrying.  
  
Matt, in his relief, slammed his head onto the wheel, making the vehicle emit a loud beep from its horn. Gregory leaned over and pulled the door open. "We're sorry about that, sir." He said apologetically. "Please get in, we're headed for the nearest motel and would be happy to drop you off there."  
  
"Didn't you see me??" the hitchhiker asked crossly, even as he got inside and Cena shut the door.  
  
"It's pitch black out there, how in the fuck did you expect us to see you properly??" Jericho immediately shot back.  
  
"Listen, sir, we're sorry about the bag and we'll be happy to compensate for the loss." Gregory said as Matt once again started the vehicle up and made a smooth U-turn to head back to the motel.  
  
"Well, it wasn't much anyway." The hiker said gruffly, settling back into the chair. He put the package in one corner of the van. "In fact it was even broken prior to this. But I still say you boys should have been more careful. You were swerving those last few minutes before you nearly hit me!"  
  
"Dude, seriously, chill…" Rob suddenly said, startling the hiker, who hadn't seen him yet. Rob's head poked up to give him a goofy grin. "At least nobody got hurt, right?"  
  
The hiker frowned and sniffed. "And you're smoking pot too?"  
  
"Uh…" Spanky gave Matt a worried look. Matt was thinking the same thing. If this guy decided to take them to court over this shit, it would be pretty bad for them.  
  
Surprisingly it was Rob who saved them. "You've got to loosen up, man, you look really tense." He said, seemingly forgetting that the guy had nearly been crushed by a SUV minutes earlier. He held out a joint in the hiker's direction, much to Rene's horror. "Here, have one. It ought to calm you down."  
  
"Rob, are you insane??" Rene demanded, grabbing his arm back.  
  
"It's not going to hurt anyone." Rob said, shrugging.  
  
"You know wat, Rob, give me one too." Cena said, taking a stick. "After tonight we all need calming down, right dawg?" he said, nudging the hiker as he lit up the joint. "Come on, Chris, we ain't smoking no more pot after we die."  
  
Chris looked like he would point out the error in Cena's double negative, but then surprisingly shrugged and took a stick as well. "To hell with it." He muttered, tossing one in the hiker's direction as well. "What do you say?"  
  
"Well…" the hiker looked apprehensive.  
  
It didn't last for long, though, as moments later every single one of them, except for Gregory and Rene, who had refused to have any, were smoking up a storm inside the crowded SUV. Well, technically having had none really didn't matter for Gregory and Rene, as being around the fumes was enough to get them as high as the smokers themselves. Within minutes Matt had pulled the van over and the eight of them were singing songs, hugging and laughing while discussing the mysteries of life as best as their now hazy minds allowed them to like they had been best friends for years. This drug-induced behavior continued until the wee hours of the morning wherein all of them soon dropped off one by one.  
  
**»»»**  
  
The next day found Mick Foley stretching outside the main office of the McKinney Motel. He had gotten up early and had breakfast with Tiffany and Laura, who had both been delighted to cook for him. During the meal the girls had confessed the little trick they had played on them with the tape and the phone call, and after Mick had had a good enough laugh he had returned the tape to the girls and firmly decided that, as a means of payback for leaving him last night, he wouldn't tell the guys about it and leave them to suffer.  
  
Mick continued to stretch and wondered where his seven idiotic companions had gone to when he squinted and spotted something across the highway. It was relatively early and no cars were around, but Mick still looked both ways before hurrying over to the clumsily parked SUV. Once there he peeked inside, bracing himself for whatever he might come across.  
  
It was bad enough. John and Jericho had somehow fallen asleep in each other's arms and were now cuddled up at one end, a mysterious man lying on top of them and snoring his ass off. Rob was still in the back, sprawled out and drooling from one corner of his mouth. Spanky and Rene were practically intertwined near the door. Matt and Gregory were in the front, Matt asleep at the wheel and Gregory's head on his lap in a very suggestive position.  
  
Somehow Mick miraculously managed to keep a straight face. It was also with dumb luck that he had his disposable camera in his pocket. He whipped that out now and began to snap some extremely incriminating black mail photos of his fellow WWE superstars. And then he reached inside and pulled the side door open.  
  
Spanky and Rene nearly fell out, but with much pushing and grunting Mick managed to heave them back in. He caught sight of a package in one corner, obviously not belonging to him or any one of them. Curious, Mick pulled it out and examined the contents, his face cringing in horror. He now knew what the mysterious hiker really was. It was terrible, this man was one of the most aggravating beings to ever walk the earth: a door-to-door salesman.  
  
"How he got this far sure beats me." Mick said, dumping the package holding the crushed vacuum cleaner off the side of the road. He then took hold of the snoring and still incredibly out of it hitchhiker/salesman and lifted him out of the vehicle, setting him down beside his stuff. Mick then fished Matt's wallet out from the back of his pants and took a couple of bills from it, putting it in the hiker's pants. After a moment of deliberation, Mick mischievously took out a pen from his shirt and penned the words, 'Thanks for last night,' on the parcel. Let him wonder about that when he woke up.  
  
When all that was done, Mick closed the side door and then walked over to the driver's seat. He pushed Matt out of the way, who promptly fell on top of Gregory in an even more suggestive position, and then got in. Mick started the engine and drove the van back inside the grounds of the McKinney Motel.  
  
Tiffany and Laura had some out for a breath of fresh air when he stopped in the parking lot. "So the others are back?" Laura asked.  
  
"In a matter of speaking." Mick said, getting out of the van. He opened the back and the side door, allowing the girls to see his stoned and unconscious companions inside. "You girls wouldn't mind helping me load up the stuff, would you?" he asked with a grin. "I don't think any of the guys are up to it."  
  
"Oh, they did something naughty and didn't invite us?" Tiffany said, pouting.  
  
Laura shrugged and sighed. "Oh well, I guess people just choose to swing that way." She said as she and Tiffany followed a snickering Mick back to room 13 to get the luggage.  
  
After they had dumped everything inside the SUV and Mick had thanked the two ladies for their help, Mick once again got back in the driver's seat. Not one of the guys had stirred during the entire time. Now Mick Foley waved to Laura and Tiffany as he drove off with his incapacitated crew.   
  
** cont'd**  
  
Aaauugghh!! Was that as bad as I thought it was? Anyway, is the weed all gone now, or is there still some left? What'll that hitchhiker/salesman think when he wakes up on the side of the road? On that note, what'll the rest of the guys' reaction be when they wake up and find themselves all bundled up with each other? Will I EVER stop with the homosexual innuendos? What will Mick do with those photos? What about the guys' obsession with the thought of them only having less than a week to live? Possibly that and more in the next chapter!


	7. Things Look Different in the Morning

  
  
One thing that is wrong about this chapter is its virtual shortness compared to the others. The chapters following it will make up for length, though. But for now, I hope you guys enjoy this one even with it's faults, ehehehe...  
  
Date Uploaded: 15 September 2004  
  
**Things Look Different in the Morning**  
  
Rene Dupree groaned as he lifted his head. He felt terrible. His head felt clogged and he was having trouble grasping onto an initial, coherent thought. All his senses could tell him was that he was moving and the air around him smelled strongly of fresh peaches. That last one made him want to gag.  
  
By and by he began to be aware of other things. One was the humming of somebody who was unmistakably Mick, as the best-selling author had somehow scavenged his daughter's tape from where it had been thrown in the back the previous day and shoved it into the stereo. As of the moment Lillix's 'What I Like About You' was mercilessly blaring out of the SUV sound system.  
  
If that wasn't bad enough, Rene then noticed that Spanky's arms were, for some obscure reason, wrapped around his midsection. In fact the smaller superstar even had his blonde head tucked in the hollow of Rene's neck. Horrified at finding this out, Rene finally managed to shake a majority of the stars out of his head and disentangled himself from the cruiserweight's grip, before backing away hurriedly with a muffled shriek. He tripped over John's arm, though, and promptly fell backwards among the luggage and on top of the prone Rob Van Dam.  
  
"Oomph!!" Rob exclaimed, being rudely jerked awake and having the air expelled out of his lungs at the same time. He groaned as Rene got off of him. "Duuude… what gives, maaan…??"  
  
"Ah, nice to see that you guys are finally waking up." Mick said from the driver's seat, glancing in the rearview mirror and grinning. "I was starting to think that you guys would sleep the rest of the way. It would have been funny driving to the arena and having Vince see you all incapacitated. The fit he'd throw would've been priceless!"  
  
"What happened…?" Rene asked, as from the front seat Gregory Helms also began to stir.  
  
"I could ask you guys the same question, although after I took a whiff of the smell in here I could kind of figure it out." Mick said. He shook his head disapprovingly as John Cena and Jericho started moving. "Seriously, I thought you guys would have more sense than to have a dope-smoking session here in the van. Lucky you weren't caught. Anyway, I had to stop by a store to by a few air fresheners to get rid of the smell."  
  
A few were an understatement. From Rene's vantage point, he could see almost twenty of the peach-colored canisters located on different parts of the vehicle.  
  
The relative quietness was shattered when both Cena and Jericho finally realized how closely they had snuggled up to each other during the night. The two of them let out piercing screams of horror and backed away from each other in a shot. Jericho crashed into Spanky, startling the younger man awake, and Cena smacked his head on the roof of the SUV.  
  
"I've been molested!!" Jericho declared, ignoring Spanky's pained groan.  
  
"Don't fuckin' flatter yourself, asshole!" Cena yelled at him. "For all I know you're the one dat had a field day up in here while I was unconscious!"  
  
"And just what are you insinuating, jerky??"  
  
"You tell me!" Cena shot right back.  
  
"Chris, you're sitting on my spleen…" Spanky moaned, cutting off their argument momentarily.  
  
"You can live without it." Jericho told him irritably, but did move over to settle himself into the backseat along with Rene, who was trying the rub the haziness out of his eyes.  
  
"Mick, will you please get Matt Hardy off from on top of me?" Gregory Helm's voice suddenly said.  
  
Mick turned a bit to see Gregory gently trying to ease the older Hardy over to one side, but having a difficult time as Matt had somehow wrapped both arms around the reporter's left thigh. "Why don't ya just kick him off?" Cena said, jamming a beanie over his head.  
  
"But he's sleeping so peacefully." Gregory said.  
  
Jericho, Cena, Rene, Mick and even Spanky raised an eyebrow at each other. Gregory caught it. "What?? It's inhumane to disturb a person out of his or her sleep!" he defended himself.  
  
"Whatever you say, man." Spanky said with a shrug.  
  
Mick, without taking his eyes off the road, reached over and yanked Matt up by the collar of his shirt, making the older Hardy brother groan a bit and blink sleepily as Gregory adjusted himself into a sitting position. "That better, Hurricane?"  
  
"Yes," Gregory said in a relieved voice, only to catch himself a second later. "But I'm not the Hurricane, Mick Foley. How many times must I have to tell you all-"  
  
"WE KNOW!!!!" Jericho, Rene, Spanky, Cena and even Mick yelled at him, nearly deafening the insistent mild-mannered reporter.  
  
"Right, you and the insane green dude are not one and da same person, we got it, man!!" Cena snapped irritably at him, pressing himself to the side of the van farthest from Chris Jericho.  
  
In the front seat Matt rubbed his eyes. "Where in the fuck am I?"  
  
"Up front, meaning you're crowding the place," Mick told him. "Get in the back."  
  
Still looking like the living dead and his surroundings not fully registering yet, Matt managed to clamber over the front area and dropped like deadweight in the back, letting out a groan of pain as he did so.  
  
"Jesus Christ, man, how much did you guys have last night?" Mick asked them.  
  
"Hey, seriously, Mick, I had like ONE joint, dat's it," Cena quickly defended himself.  
  
"Ditto for me," Spanky seconded.  
  
"I must have had a maximum of two, all right!" Jericho said.  
  
"If my memory serves me correctly Gregory and I did not have a single one," Rene said, shrugging.  
  
"Then how come my bag's empty, dudes?" Rob suddenly piped up from where he was still sprawled at the very back, staring cluelessly at the now blank Ziplock bag that once held a considerable amount of weed. "I mean, I know I was probably stoned out of my mind, but I seriously doubt I smoked THAT much."  
  
"Matt may have had more than he could handle," Gregory reminded, pointing to the barely moving Sensei of Mattitude on the SUV floor.  
  
"And that hitchhiker you had with you hardly looked like he decided to step out on this activity," Mick said, grabbing a donut from the box sitting on the dashboard.  
  
That seemed to cut off all conversation pertaining to who smoked the most pot last night. Six pairs of eyes turned fixatedly on the box of Crispy Crème donuts at the front of the vehicle. As if in unison the stomachs of Gregory, John, Jericho, Spanky, Rene and Rob gave a collective rumble, pointedly reminding them that they had not had a single decent meal since yesterday afternoon.  
  
Mick noticed that silence. He turned slightly to look at them. "You guys hungry?"  
  
"No, Mike, we just haven't had anything to eat since that little escapade in the convenience store yesterday!" Jericho snapped at him. "Now be the nice guy that you claim you are and fork over the donuts!"  
  
"Help yourself. There's only one left anyway," Mick said nonchalantly.  
  
Gregory stopped cold from reaching for the box. "Did you say only one?"  
  
Mick nodded. "I got hungry waiting for you guys to wake up."  
  
"Well that was considerate," Jericho said angrily.  
  
There was a momentary silence. Then in a single quick moment Jericho, John Cena, Spanky and Rene tried to hoist themselves in the front seat, all trying to claim ownership of the lone donut still sitting in the box.  
  
"I got it first!!" Cena declared.  
  
"No you did not, I did!" Spanky countered.  
  
"Get off me, you runt!!" Jericho yelled, pushing the cruiserweight away, only to be squashed by the bulkier Rene.  
  
"Whoa, guys, chill… you've, like, totally squashed Matt there, you know?" Rob suddenly said to them from where the luggage was.  
  
All four of them stopped arguing to see that they had indeed buried Matt, who was now frantically trying to kick them all off. Once they had backed off, the previously unconscious Matt exploded. "What in the FUCK is the big idea with trying to suffocate me?? I wake up with a foot in my gut and a leg in my face! What the hell is wrong with you assholes??"  
  
"It could have been worse. You should have seen your previous position," Spanky snickered, and even Jericho laughed along with him.  
  
"All right, listen, will you all calm down?" Mick implored from the driver's seat. "I'll see if we can't find a bed and breakfast or someplace where you guys can shower and have brunch, how's that? Shouldn't take a few minutes."  
  
"Sounds good," Gregory said, nodding.  
  
"Yup, but for now, I get that donut," Spanky said, numbly jumping and up and snatching the box before anybody could stop him. He had taken a huge bite out of it, only to gasp and spit it out a split second later. "Shit, it's coconut!"  
  
"No wonder instincts kept telling me not to get that one," Mick mused with a grin.  
  
"It serves you right for being so greedy!" Rene taunted. A thought suddenly struck him as everybody else was busy laughing at Spanky. "Hey Mick, whatever happened to the videotape that we were watching in the motel last night?"  
  
"Oh, that thing?" Mick commented with a shrug. "Well since it spooked you guys so much I gave it back to the girls. They said it did have that effect on people so it must be evil. They threw it into the fire."  
  
For the second time around there was a deathly silence in the SUV. Mick ignored it. "Hey look, there's a country club over there. Maybe we can get in."  
  
Two minutes later the SUV skidded to a clumsy stop in the country club parking lot, all thanks to the fact that Chris Jericho and Matt Hardy had immediately tried to strangle the grinning Mick Foley, making Gregory Helms, John Cena, Rene Dupree, Spanky and Rob Van Dam do all that they could to keep them from doing so.  
  
**cont'd**  
  
What'll the guys do now that they think that the tape is gone for good, taking their chance of living through the week with it? Will Mick keep hanging it torturously over their heads? Um, yeah he would. How will our mismatched bunch of wrestlers manage to get inside that country club? Did Matt and Rob really smoke all that weed? Now that the weed is all gone, will I finally shut up about it? When's the next update going to be? Tomorrow, if things go right. Well, watch out for the next chapter! 


	8. Not Your Average Run of the Mill Club

Length-wise this definitely makes up for the previously short chapter. Humor-wise this may come up drastically short compared to most of the previous parts. I tried my best though, but even with one of the most bizarre twists in the story it didn't come out that satisfactory. I may have been more than a little off when I wrote it, but then you be the judge of that.  
  
Date Uploaded: 16 September 2004  
  
**Not Your Average Run of the Mill Club**  
  
Members only.  
  
John Cena frowned and crossed his arms over his chest as he re-read what was posted outside the doors of the country club. Rene came to stand beside him. "Now this is going to be a problem," he said to the Eminem-wannabe.  
  
"Chill, dawg, dis is nothin'," Cena told him. He turned back to where the rest of the dysfunctional gang was catching up. Thinking quickly he spotted the figure of a bent old man leaning on a cane, painfully making his way towards the double doors of the club as well. "Follow my lead," Cena said, nudging Rene as he walked towards the man.  
  
"Hey, geez-, I mean gramps, wait up!" Cena called.  
  
The addressee, who looked to be pushing seventy already, turned and eyed the beaming John Cena and Rene Dupree suspiciously. "I'm sorry, were you talking to me?"  
  
"Yes, monsieur," Rene said courteously as he and Cena stopped on opposite sides of the old gentleman. "You see, we have a favor to ask you."  
  
"It's like dis, dawg," Cena said, slinging an arm around the old man and nearly making him topple over. "A couple of guys and myself are out on dis road trip and really, we haven't had a break last night and all day yesterday, so we were wondering, are you a member of dis club?"  
  
"No, I came over here to get turned away at the door," the gentleman said sarcastically.  
  
Cena guffawed like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. "Hey, a sense of humor! I like dat in a guy, I really do. But really, I know dis may be pushing it a little, but you couldn't possibly say dat we're guests of yours or sumthin', could ya? We'll pay you back every cent we rack up, we promise, man."  
  
Matt Hardy came up behind them just to catch the tail end of their conversation and he rolled his eyes. There was no way that this old man would agree to that. He was about to tell them to leave him alone when to his surprise the old man answered in the affirmative. "Well to tell you the truth you boys sure do look like you've had a rough last few hours. So, all right, bring yourselves and your friends in."  
  
"Hey, that's cool of you, man!" Cena said happily, trading grins with Rene. He turned and motioned the others triumphantly inside.  
  
"Wasn't that a bit too easy?" Matt wondered to Rene.  
  
"You Americans are always so suspicious," was Rene's answer. "Be thankful for our good fortune for once!" and with that the Frenchman followed Cena and their old host into the building.  
  
"I still say something's fishy about this," Matt said under his breath as he and the other stars piled in, the door closing shut behind them.  
  
**»»»**  
  
The munchies.  
  
As of the moment Mick and the elderly gentleman, whom they learned was named Robert, sat at their places on the long table located in the veranda, looking on in borderline shock as the other seven wrestlers proceeded to wolf down almost their weight in food. One by one the amazing stack of pancakes, eggs, toast and whatnot that had been ordered mere minutes ago started to disappear in front of their eyes like some perverted magician's trick. Mick slowly turned to Robert. "They accept credit cards here, right?"  
  
"Of course. But you're not going to pay for all of this on one joint card, are you?"  
  
Mick grinned at Gregory Helms. "His credit's still good, right Helms??"  
  
Gregory groaned, and then let out a cry of protest as Spanky grabbed an untouched waffle off from his plate. He decided to let it go for the moment and looked back at Mick. "Really, Mick Foley, I don't see why we have to live on my credit limit. I'm sure Chris Jericho or John Cena have outstanding balances as well."  
  
"Yeah, an outstanding amount of debt, I'll bet," Matt snickered, causing Cena to flip him off and yet continue stuffing his face with the other hand.  
  
"We've got this," Mick said to Robert with a less than believable grin of assurance.  
  
Before Robert could contemplate having them thrown out before his standing in the club was jeopardized, one of the six waiters who had been running back and forth from their table to the kitchen appeared. In one hand he had a huge plate of bacon and in the other a tray of donuts, making the seven pause their pigging out for the moment to let out a cheer.  
  
"My, what big appetites," the waiter said with a grin as he set the food down. All of them immediately starting digging in, except for Mick and Robert, who regarded the situation as if their appendages would get ripped off if ever they attempted trying to stick their hand into that fray.  
  
"Well, if you excuse me for a moment, I need to use the restroom, I'll be back," Robert said, and they nodded as he left the table.  
  
"Hey junior," Jericho said to the waiter with his mouth unattractively half-full, "We're out of orange juice. Get us a refill, would you? And another pot of coffee while you're at it too."  
  
"Make that two pots," Spanky said, holding up two fingers while beside him Rob noisily slurped down his beverage.  
  
"Yeah, you've got great brew here," Matt complimented, holding his cup up.  
  
"Why thank you, I actually made that particular batch myself," the waiter said proudly.  
  
"You wouldn't happen to mind sharing your secret with us then? We sure could use this at work, the coffee machines there are completely shitty," Matt said.  
  
"Or just plain shit," Rene said distastefully. "It's as if that's what the coffee itself was ground out from."  
  
The waiter laughed amiably. "Well it's an old family secret, but I definitely wouldn't mind brewing you another batch," he said, his eyes directly on Matt. "I have a special recipe for cappuccino too, but that's best enjoyed right after waking up," he gave a discreet wink at the perplexed Hardy and glided off to get their newest orders.  
  
Matt's mouth dropped open and he turned to the others, who had been much too busy eating to notice the exchange. "Did you see that?? That dude was hitting on me!"  
  
Cena let out a chortle that nearly spilled the contents of his mouth onto Spanky's dish. "Matt, yo, I'll give ya some pointers. If you're tryin' to flatter yourself, dat ain't da best way to do it, bro."  
  
Matt glared at him. "Don't look at me like I'm an idiot!"  
  
"Too late," Rene said dryly, eyeing him sardonically as he spooned scrambled eggs into his mouth.  
  
"Fuck you, Dupree. I'm telling you, the guy just made a pass at me, and to top it off he winked at me in a way that Pat Patterson sometimes winks at Rob!" Matt insisted.  
  
Activity at the table stopped momentarily as every one of them looked at Rob. The still nonchalant RVD simply shrugged. "I dunno what that dude's deal is, but he stares at my ass a lot. Definitely not cool. That's why I try not be caught alone by him when I'm in the gym."  
  
His comments caused a shudder to ripple through the group, and then they started eating again. "Matt, don't you think you were just imagining things?" Mick suggested.  
  
"I know what I saw," Matt said stubbornly.  
  
"Well if it is true then so what?" Jericho spoke up, tired of the argument. "Then so he's gay and is attracted to you. People do swing that way, as evidenced by Rene here," he thumped the shoulder of the Frenchman seated to his left, causing Rene to growl at him. "Let it go. Or maybe follow him and see if you can't get laid and stop being such a tight ass," he grinned. "No pun intended."  
  
"How many times have I told you that you're an asshole, Chris?" Matt snapped at him.  
  
"And I am NOT gay," Rene defended.  
  
"Right, junior, whatever," Jericho said in a bored voice, not really listening to him. "When you stop wearing a beret to the ring and dancing that queer little jig of yours then I'll probably believe you."  
  
Mick was laughing at Matt's and Rene's enraged expressions. He looked up and saw Robert headed back to them. "Hey, Robert's coming back. Now go back to saying nothing and just eat."  
  
"No problem there," Spanky said, grinning as he dumped more bacon onto his plate.  
  
Mick then stopped laughing himself and groaned. Maybe that wasn't the best thing to say after all.  
  
**»»»**  
  
When the boys had miraculously finished eating somehow, they decided to take advantage of the facilities and go to the gym located there, seeing as they could spare an hour or two. They left Mick and Robert to trade stories on the veranda.  
  
"You know, there's something wrong with this picture," Rob suddenly said out of the blue.  
  
"And what's that?" Rene asked, spotting Spanky, who was trying to bench press almost ninety percent of his weight and struggling badly.  
  
"I don't know," Rob said, scratching his head. He was on the mats on the floor, stretching his ultra-flexible limbs out. "But I know there's something wrong."  
  
"Trust Rob," Jericho groaned, lifting a few weights.  
  
"I know what it is," Gregory Helms said, running on a treadmill. "There's no women."  
  
There was another silence within the group as their heads turned to fathom that the mild-mannered reporter was right, there were no women within the vicinity. All around they could see buffed-up men chatting with other buffed-up men, spotting other buffed-up men and exercising with other buffed-up men. That should have made a red, warning light go off in their heads, but it didn't. If it was because of an after-effect of the weed they wouldn't be able to recall later on. Either that or it was plain stupidity. Who's betting on the latter?  
  
"What do you know, the Hurri-dork's right," Jericho mused.  
  
"I'm not the Hurricane," Gregory snapped defensively, annoyed.  
  
"Fine then, you're not the Hurricane. But you're still a dork," Jericho shot back at him.  
  
"Maybe the club is exclusively to men only," Matt deduced with a shrug, deciding that ignoring a budding fight was the best way to prevent it from happening.  
  
"Could be," Rene agreed, nodding his head slowly and quite oblivious to the fact that Spanky was struggling with the barbell and gasping for breath, wheezing out barely heard pleas for Rene to get the damn thing off of him.  
  
"Whatever, man, dis makes me uncomfortable," Cena said, getting up and heading towards the locker rooms. "I'm gonna take a shower and den let's jes get outta here."  
  
"For once I'm with him," Matt said, moving to follow.  
  
One by one the others threw in the towel, so to speak, and all headed for the locker rooms, except of course Spanky. The blonde cruiserweight had the rod of the barbell gripped firmly in both hands to keep it from digging into his neck and cutting off circulation to his brain, and was expending energy just trying to call his idiotic co-workers back to help him out of this predicament. This was the last time he let Rene spot for him! Fortunately Rob realized that their group was one down and went to go fetch him before he could accidentally decapitate himself.  
  
**»»»**  
  
"Okay, I don't know about you guys, but this is definitely NOT normal," Matt said to the others in a low voice.  
  
He and the others stood in the showers, looking absolutely horrified. When the seven had first walked in, stripped and gone off to bathe, there was no one else in the locker rooms. That changed when apparently the aerobics class in the room next to the gym had let out and all of a sudden a stream of twenty or so men filtered in the doors of the locker room.  
  
And those twenty or so men then proceeded to take showers themselves, some goofing around and running naked while other slapped wet towels on their asses, but most of the others content to stare pointedly at the seven newcomers with suggestive grins on their faces.  
  
"I feel like dat one time where I got pushed up onto da stage at a strip joint," Cena muttered, causing the others to turn to him in shock. "It was in front of a female audience!" he defended.  
  
Out of the seven, though, it was Chris Jericho who seemed less than concerned about their surroundings. This may be largely in part due to the fact that he was busy rubbing shampoo into his long, blonde locks and whistling contentedly as he did, his eyes closed to keep from getting shampoo into them. He abruptly stopped when Rene shoved him to get his attention. Jericho blew foam from his face and glared at him. "You better not just have touched me, ass clown. That completely crosses the borders of shower etiquette!!"  
  
"Then what do you call this?" Spanky asked, motioning to all the others.  
  
Jericho finally stopped to survey the scene. Almost a full minute of silence between them passed until the self-proclaimed King of Bling-Bling took his towel off from the rack. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm done."  
  
"Ditto," Gregory Helms said, doing the same. All seven of them filed out as discreetly as possible, even as the twenty other pairs of eyes watched them go.  
  
**»»»**  
  
"What in da hell kind of place is dis??" John Cena hissed to his companions as they walked quickly down the corridors to get back to the veranda that they had left Mick at. "First Matt tells us dat he thinks he gets hit on, we figure out dat there's no chicks up in dis joint, and then all those idiots in da locker room look at us like we're in sum sorta freak show!"  
  
"We have to get out of this place," Spanky said, looking pale. "Wait, what's this place called again anyway?"  
  
"I forget," Gregory said, thinking about it and seemingly ignoring the fact that a Cher video was playing on the monitors that they passed by. "It may have been 'The Pink Flamingo' or something."  
  
"What kind of schmuck names a country club 'The Pink Flamingo?'" a clueless Rene wondered, making even Rob look at him like he was incompetent.  
  
"Just hurry up, the sooner we get Mick the sooner we can leave this place," a near nauseated-looking Matt Hardy said, pushing the doors outside to the veranda open. There, to their relief, they found Mick still in conversation with Robert.  
  
"All right, Mick, we're leaving," Cena said curtly, urging the Hardcore Legend to get to his feet.  
  
"Whoa, slow down, John!" Mick said, wondering what happened to the seven to make their faces as white-drawn as they were now. "I know we have quite bit more hours on the road before we get to Phoenix, but we can't leave before we pay Robert, you know."  
  
"Right. Give him your credit card, Hurri-dork," Jericho said to Gregory.  
  
"Chris, I am not-"  
  
"Give him the fucking credit card!!" Jericho near-shrieked at Hurri-er, Helms.  
  
"Hang on a moment, "Robert suddenly interjected, looking puzzled at Jericho's agitation. "That can wait until later. You guys can't leave until you see the show put on by some of the performers here. It starts in a few minutes. At least stay to see the first dance."  
  
"Look, we'd really love to, but we have to get going," Matt said. "Rob here, uh, has a condition he doesn't like to talk about and, um, needs to pick up some medication in Phoenix too, pronto," he said, spouting out the first excuse that came to his head.  
  
"Huh?" Rob looked at him, confused, but then seemed to get the message when Matt and Cena shot him death looks. "Oh yeah, my medication! Right, I totally used up my previous stash-er, stock, and so I have to go and get new ones from this dude I know."  
  
"See?" Matt said, offering a lame grin.  
  
"Oh wait, the show's starting right now!" Robert suddenly said, pointing behind them.  
  
The eight turned to where a stage had been set up and a crowd of men of different ages had seated in deck chairs to watch. Lights flashed and, to the horror of the wrestlers, especially to the unsuspecting Mick Foley, Kylie Minogue's 'Slow' starting pumping from the speakers.  
  
" _… skip a beat and move to your body… dance… slow…_ "  
  
Whereupon young, attractive men, most of whom had been in the showers with the other guys, moved onstage in leisurely, vapid movements, only jerking and adding life to their actions at every heavy beat. They were dressed in outfits that might have made Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears themselves blush.  
  
And so you can pretty much guess the effect that had on the eight completely caught of guard wrestlers. Spanky opened his mouth to let out a scream of terror, but fortunately Rene clamped his hand shut over it. "Do NOT draw attention," he hissed.  
  
"You don't like it?" Robert, who was obviously enjoying himself, asked.  
  
"Uh, well, Robert, how do I say this?" Mick scratched his head, recuperating. "We're not gay."  
  
Robert blinked in astonishment. "You're not?"  
  
"Of course we're not!" Jericho said in a hysterical whisper, trying not to look at the writhing bodies onstage. "Whatever gave you that idea??"  
  
"Well for one thing you asked to be invited in," Robert said. "I would have though the name 'The Pink Flamingo' would have tipped anybody off."  
  
"So we missed that," Matt said with a sigh.  
  
"Add to that the fact that the seven of you are exceptionally well-built young men," Robert continued. "I assumed you were either strippers or dancers of some sort and Mick was your road agent."  
  
"We're wrestlers," Rob said.  
  
"Yeah, that crossed my mind too."  
  
"Not that kind of wrestling!" Jericho said, disgusted. "But Robert, now that we've told you this, we'll be happy to just quietly pay you what we owe and then leave."  
  
All of a sudden cheers and whistles came from the onlookers up in the front, and the eight, against better judgment, turned to see what was going on. The dancers had decided to take things a step too far and had started to strip down even further, as if what they were wearing right now wasn't revealing enough. Cena's jaw dropped and he looked like he would drop into a dead faint if Matt hadn't shoved him into a chair.  
  
Mick had grown considerably paler but turned back to Robert to ask a question. "Does this place have a license to hold that type of 'entertainment?'"  
  
Robert's expression had become concerned. "Actually… not that I know of."  
  
And then the one thing that the club had probably been hoping for weeks wouldn't happen happened. A man from the front unexpectedly stood up and held up a shiny object that was quickly recognized as a badge. "All right, police!!" the undercover cop barked at everybody.  
  
At that point the doors all burst open and a squad of uniformed policemen entered with guns in their hands. "This is a raid!!" the head said commandingly to the shrieks of the surprised men. "Nobody move, you're all under arrest!"  
  
"Shit," Matt said dumbly as the police advanced to handcuff their unfortunate group.  
  
** cont'd**  
  
Bad? Yeah, I thought so. I will try to see if I can't get my regular insane self to write the next chapter. Oh, and I'm not entirely sure if I got the words to kylie Minogue's 'Slow' right (don't really care either way) since I couldn't be bothered to check anymore. But really, you didn't expect me to let the guys last the entire trip without getting arrested, did you? Haha! Anyway, how stupid do you have to be not to notice that you've walked into an exclusively gay club? How will the guys get out of this one? Maybe some outside help? Argh, now I'm giving out spoilers myself! But anyway, stay tuned in for the next chapter to find out what happens!


	9. Won't Anyone Bail Us Out?

  
  
After months of inactivity this fic is FINALLY getting a new chapter. I initially wanted to type the phone conversations in script form, much like in my On Air stories, but after the ban on that I decided against it. Here it is, that elusive chapter nine, that will spark off a bunch of other wacked out instances with the guys. I don't think I'm ready to let this fic die just yet, ehehehe...

Oh yeah, and I agree with you, Luke. The homosexual puns lost their novelty in the last chapter. Every time I read it I wince and I did consider revising it, but in the end I decided to just keep it and plod on. I'll be toning those types of jokes down considerably from now on.  
  
Date Uploaded: 21 September 2004  
  
**Won't Anyone Bail Us Out??**  
  
Spanky slouched on the uncomfortable plank that served as a seat, unconsciously leaning on Rene, who promptly shoved him away. Matt had his head in his hands. Rob was seriously hoping that none of the officers, who had been shooting him suspicious stares, would demand a urine test from him. John Cena and Gregory Helms were nervously trying not to look at the bearded man in the corner of the cell who was leering at their group. And Mick was by the door, trying to dissuade Jericho from carrying on with his King Kong impression.  
  
"Let me OUT OF HERE!!!" Jericho screamed, rattling the steel bars as much as he could. "I want my lawyer!! I want my fucking phone call!! I WANT OUT!!!"  
  
"Chris, will you shut the fuck up?" Mick said in exasperation, actually swearing for the first time during the entire trip.  
  
"No, Mike, as long as I'm behind these bars I am NOT going to close my mouth!!" Jericho declared, looking savagely at his companion.  
  
"Sir, you do realize that you have been read your rights, right?" the police office outside the cage drawled wearily. "Did you pay attention to them, especially the part about having the right to remain silent? Because that's something we can all benefit from right now."  
  
"Well that's one right I choose to waive!" Jericho snapped unthinkingly before letting out another bellow. "I WANT MY PHONE CALL!!"  
  
"You know a good shot to the back of the head ought to shut him up," one of the other inmates called out helpfully.  
  
"Mind your own, business, junior!" Jericho roared at him.  
  
Spanky got up and nearly sent Rene toppling over in the process. The blonde cruiserweight ran over to the bars. "Hey, but he's got a point, though," he said to the officer on duty. "We get a phone call! In fact, all eight of us do! Shouldn't we be granted at least that??"  
  
The officer sighed and scratched his head. "Oh all right, but one at a time. So who wants to go first?"  
  
All eight hands shot in the air, along with voices from the wrestlers declaring to be picked first, Jericho's voice rising over the cacophony, "I'm the best looking one so I get to go first!!"  
  
"Dis ain't no beauty contest, bro," Cena growled, elbowing Jericho out of the way.  
  
"And for that you should be grateful, because then you wouldn't go far!" Jericho retorted.  
  
"Actually, I am grateful right now," Cena said, pointing to the bearded man in the corner, who promptly winked at Jericho. This startled the bellyaching Canadian long enough for Cena to boot him out of the way and get the first shot at the phone.  
  
"All right, you're up first," the officer said, unlocking the cell and allowing Cena to step through. "Come with me and don't cause any trouble!"  
  
"Call someone who can bail us ALL out of here!" Mick called out to him, to which Cena responded with a confounding salute involving his right hand. The wannabe rapper followed the officer out.  
  
**»»»**  
  
This was how Cena's conversation went.  
  
Ring. Ring.  
  
The phone was picked up. "Hello?"  
  
"Yo, Paul," Cena greeted.  
  
"Who is this?" Paul Heyman demanded. "Speak up, I'm a busy man!"  
  
"Dis be John Cena, fool! What, no love lost for your show's top draw??"  
  
"You forget, Cena, Smackdown! still has the likes of Kurt Angle and Brock Lesnar. Wait, what exactly are you calling for in the first place? You didn't have a one night stand with some chick who won't leave your hotel room now again, did you??"  
  
"No! I ain't even in Phoenix yet, man!"  
  
"You aren't?? The show is tomorrow!! Well where in the hell are you then?"  
  
"Glad you asked, Heyman. I'd explain right now, but I got dis cop breathin' down my back. Listen, just come down to the county jail at Main Street in Beatty, Nevada with eight thousand dollars and bail us all out. Take a right at this gay club called 'The Pink Flamingo,' you can't miss it."  
  
Dial tone.  
  
"… Heyman?"  
  
More dial tone.  
  
"Motherfuck."  
  
**»»»**  
  
"So how'd it go?" Spanky asked the moment John Cena was escorted back to the cell.  
  
"Do ya hafta ask??" Cena snapped at him, looking grumpy. "I tried Paul Heyman. Apparently he's too much of a dick and a cheapskate to come over here. Don't nobody call him."  
  
"So much for your general manager," Jericho scoffed, still trying to avoid the looks from the bearded man in the corner. "Now move aside, it's MY turn!"  
  
But before he could shove his way to the front Spanky beat him to it. The cruiserweight gave his best innocent smile at the guard. "I'll take my phone call now, and I promise not to make a fuss."  
  
"All right, come along," the officer said, looking bored but not particularly impressed.  
  
Spanky grinned at everybody else in what he hoped was an assuring manner, but simply got the finger from an impatient Chris Jericho. Then he trudged after the policeman.  
  
**»»»**  
  
Unfortunately Spanky didn't seem to fare much better, as evidenced by this conversation.  
  
Ring. Ring. Ring.  
  
"Yes, hello? Hurry up, I'm busy."  
  
"Stephanie! Hi, this is Brian Kendrick; you remember, right?"  
  
"Brian, Brian…" Stephanie's voice was unsure until she somehow managed to grasp the name. "Oh yes, Spanky! Yes, it has been a while, hasn't it? Listen, it's great to hear from you, but I'm kind of in the middle of something right now…"  
  
"Stephanie, Ms. McMahon, please, I'd never dream of interrupting you while you're busy, but I'm in a bit of a fix here, ehehehe…" Spanky mumbled, embarrassed.  
  
"Look, if it's dad or Heyman being a pain in the ass again, I'm doing my best to get back on Smackdown! but right now I'm sort of tied up…"  
  
"Stephanie, I'm in jail," Spanky said, deciding to just blurt it out.  
  
"And I can't just drop… what? Did you just say that you're in jail??"  
  
"Yeah, along with John Cena, Matt Hardy, Rene Dupree, Helms, Rob Van Dam, Jericho and Mick Foley! Messed up, huh?"  
  
"All of you… and MICK?? What in the hell did you guys do??"  
  
"Hey, it wasn't really illegal…"  
  
"It had to have been, they don't throw you in jail just for badly impersonating rap stars, or spouting pro-French sentiments, or even being a jackass as in Jericho's case or something!"  
  
"Well, it's a little bit complicated…"  
  
"Of all the… wait, Spanky, can I get back to you on this one? I'm really preoccupied as of the moment; give me another hour or so and then call again, all right? Bye."  
  
"NO! Steph, wait…!!"  
  
Dial tone.  
  
"Crap."  
  
**»»»**  
  
"I'm guessing you didn't have much luck either, huh?" Mick commented upon seeing Spanky's face when the blonde was led back into the holding cell.  
  
"No," Spanky admitted. "I tried Stephanie McMahon but she said she was much too busy right now."  
  
"You tried Stephanie McMahon??" Matt echoed incredulously. "Are you still high?? Of course she wouldn't give a shit about our condition right now! The only thing she ever worries about is herself and only herself! Now if she were still the GM of Smackdown! that would be another matter; she'd bail us out of here in an instant to save her show!"  
  
"Sheesh, Matt, ever thought of maybe switchin' to decaf?" Cena quipped.  
  
"Who's next?" the policeman asked impatiently, even as Matt tried to attack Cena but was held back by Rob and Gregory. This allowed Rene Dupree to slip forward.  
  
"I believe I can be depended on to call someone reliable," he said witheringly, looking at Spanky and Cena pointedly as he did so.  
  
"Ten bucks sez ya don't!" Cena shot back even as Rene was led away.  
  
**»»»**  
  
Rene quite actually thought he had it all figured out, but unfortunately the person he called up seemed to be in a particularly foul mood.  
  
Ring. Ring.  
  
The phone was picked up, and in the background Rene could hear a variety of orders being barked back and forth before an irritated voice answered him. "Eric Bischoff here. Make it quick."  
  
"Bischoff," Rene said quickly. "It's Rene Dupree-"  
  
"Dupree!" Bischoff interrupted, not allowing the Frenchman to finish. "Where in the hell are you?? Your buddy Grenier here says that the last time he talked to you, you were back in Seattle!! Goddamnit, Dupree, the show is TOMORROW and people are fucking up here left and right! To make matters worse, you're not the only one who's MIA; Jericho, RVD and that nutty, self-proclaimed superhero Hurricane aren't here yet either!! With my luck, Chris is probably still ogling himself in a mirror somewhere, RVD got high and ended up in Hawaii and goodness knows where Hurricane is!! Are you all trying to prematurely KILL me??"  
  
Dial tone.  
  
"Dupree…??"  
  
Dial tone.  
  
"Son of a BITCH…"  
  
**»»»**  
  
When Rene came back, ranting to himself in French about loudmouthed, stupid supervisors, not that the others could understand him much, Matt Hardy let out a loud groan. "All right, that's it, I'm going next."  
  
"Hey, I'm supposed to be on my coffee break now," the officer who had been subjected to ushering them back and forth protested.  
  
"We demand justice!" Jericho once again squawked up. "And if I don't get my phone call I'll sue you and every officer in here for violation of rights!"  
  
"Chris Jericho does have a point, officer," Helms conceded.  
  
The policeman sighed. "Oh all right, but make this quick."  
  
"Not to mention count!" Spanky said, as behind him Rene begrudgingly slapped a ten into Cena's open hand. Matt Hardy followed the guard out.  
  
**»»»**  
  
Matt's conversation was relatively shorter than he could have imagined.  
  
Ring. Ring. Beep.  
  
"Hello, you have reached the office of Linda McMahon, CEO of World Wrestling Entertainment. Mrs. McMahon is not here to take your call right now, but please leave a message after the beep and it will be answered as promptly as possible. Thank you."  
  
Beep.  
  
"Oh fuck… oh shit, it's recording. GodDAMNIT, this just isn't my day!!" Matt gave another groan and abruptly hung up. Afterwards he realized that he probably should have left a message, but was denied a second phone call and had to be forcefully dragged back into the jail cell.  
  
**»»»**  
  
"Must you all be such dickheads??" Jericho complained as a screaming Matt was fairly flung back inside with them. "What lamebrain did you call, Hardy?"  
  
"Linda McMahon," was the sullen answer.  
  
Mick raised an eyebrow. "Linda? Well I'm surprised that she didn't at least try to-"  
  
"I got her answering machine," Matt further explained.  
  
Helms moved to step forward but was rudely pushed aside by Jericho. "Oh no you don't, I'm not risking any of you other bozos ruining our chances to get out of here. It's my turn now."  
  
"Go ahead," Cena called dryly. "But if you fuck up just like the rest of us I'm not promising to help keep that guy off of you tonight," he said, jerking a thumb in the direction of the bearded man in the corner, who gave Jericho a leer.  
  
Jericho swallowed the whimper that would have come out of his mouth, squared his shoulders and, with his head held high, stomped after the weary officer.  
  
**»»»**  
  
Jericho may not have had the most productive conversation in the bunch, in fact most would call it anti-prolific, but it certainly was the longest.  
  
Ring. Ring. RING. **RING.**  
  
Finally the phone was picked up. "Hello," a cheery, bubbly voice asked. "Mr. McMahon's office. May I help you?"  
  
Oh great, he had gotten one of Vince's air-headed secretaries. Jericho rolled his eyes and then demanded, "I want to talk to Vince."  
  
"I'm sorry," the chirpy personal assistant said, not sounding like she meant it at all, "but Mr. McMahon is in his office as of the moment and isn't to be disturbed. If you like I can take a message for you and have him get back to you as soon as possible."  
  
"I don't think you understand, chick. I not only want to talk to Vince, I NEED to talk to him. Tell him that Chris Jericho is on the line and that it's urgent."  
  
"I've been given strict orders; no call is to be put through at this time. He's in the middle of something very important."  
  
"I don't care if he's on the phone with the president or shaving his ass, this is more important than anything he's got planned for as of the moment!! Now I ORDER you to transfer this call RIGHT NOW!" by now it was obvious that Chris was losing his patience with the ditzy assistant.  
  
But she was more stubborn than most would give her credit for. "Listen, Chuck, or whatever you said your name was, you're not my boss, Mr. McMahon is, so you have no right to raise your voice to me! And if Mr. McMahon says that he's too busy then he's simply TOO BUSY! Got it??"  
  
"I don't think you realize who I am; I am CHRIS Jericho, not Chuck! I am the King of Bling-Bling and the most talented superstar to ever grace the squared circle, thus more significant to this company than you and your little phone-answering duties will ever be! I-"  
  
"YOU are really annoying!" she interrupted huffily. "I'm not only going to hang up on you now, I'm going to put you on the call block, so there! Luckily I figured out how to do that this morning!"  
  
"If you hang up on me, you snotty, little air-head, I will-"  
  
Ignoring his threat, she hung up the phone. Dial tone.  
  
"FUCKING HELL!!"  
  
**»»»**  
  
"Crashed and burned!" Cena immediately whooped the moment Jericho was led back to the cell.  
  
"There should be a law against hiring pretty faces with no brain behind it to back it up," Jericho muttered as he stepped back inside, seemingly forgetting that that was the actual premise of the diva search contests WWE had had in the past. "Don't call Vince McMahon; he's got this numbskull of an assistant who probably should never have been rescued from her previous job as a waitress/stripper."  
  
"Well sure, all of us knew that," Matt said, annoyed.  
  
"I called once when I got drunk and ended up somehow past the border," RVD piped up. "The chick asked me to hold until I had run out of change for the payphone. Totally not cool."  
  
"Drunk? Don't you mean high-" Spanky was once again silenced by Rene and Gregory's hands from saying anything more incriminating.  
  
"So who's next?" the guard asked in a bored voice, already used to the routine.  
  
"I believe it's my turn, sir," Helms said, leaving Spanky to struggle against Rene and exiting the holding cell. The mild-mannered reporter trooped out after the officer.  
  
**»»»**  
  
With Gregory Helms at the, er, helm, things didn't often go smoothly. Maybe he should have let his superhero alter ego handle things, not that he'd ever admit it, as evidenced by this conversation.  
  
Ring. Ring.  
  
"Yes, this is Jim Ross. How may I help you?"  
  
"JR? This is Gregory Helms," Helms quickly said.  
  
"Hurricane," Ross said, sounding a little surprised. "I haven't seen you in days. How have you been?"  
  
"JR, please, it astonishes me how many people have made the mistake of calling me the Hurricane, and we aren't even face to face! I am not the superhero of which you speak of; I am merely mild-mannered reporter Gregory Helms-"  
  
Ross interrupted him. "You know what, Hurricane, save it. It's going to be a long day and I really need to run off and do about a million things before the show, so if you would just tell me what you need I'll try to help you-"  
  
"But I must make you realize that the Hurricane and I are two completely different people! If I can make one-hello?"  
  
Dial tone.  
  
"Hmm… people are on to me. I wonder why?" Helms mused before hanging up.  
  
**»»»**  
  
By this time there was bleak hope among the waiting seven, and so when Helms returned with a long face it was no surprise.  
  
"I guess even superheroes are useless behind bars, huh?" Cena quipped.  
  
Gregory was about to open his mouth to make his perfunctory dispute of likening him to the Hurricane, but then thought twice and shut it. This was what relatively surprised everyone else.  
  
RVD turned to Mick. "So, should you go or do you want me to take my turn?"  
  
"Christ, Mick, go, for all we know Rob's just going to call his dealer for another stash of weed-" this time it was Jericho who was abruptly muffled by Rene, Cena and Matt. The blonde Canadian thrashed but simply was no match for the other three men. The guard raised an eyebrow but fortunately said nothing.  
  
Mick, however, had become engrossed in playing chess with one of the other officers through the bars. "You go ahead," he said to Rob, moving his rook forward.  
  
"Cool," Rob said, getting up from his comfortable position on a bench and then following the guard out, whistling to himself as he did so.  
  
**»»»**  
  
Rob Van Dam almost didn't have his conversation, considering he dialed a wrong number and got a phone sex service. He managed to beg off another chance from the guard by trading in the number he had just dialed and a joint that had been left over in his pants.  
  
Ring. Ring.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Tommy? Hey, man, it's Robbie."  
  
"Rob! Hey, what's up, man?" Tommy Dreamer greeted. "Haven't heard from you in a while. Then again the last time you called me you were stoned out of your mind and got past the border. I had to pick you up in Tijuana, man," Tommy's voice grew suspicious. "That's not the same case as why you're calling now, is it?"  
  
"No, man, nothing like that," Rob said. "It's a little more complicated. You see myself and a bunch of the other guys missed the plane to Arizona, right? So we're stuck with an impromptu road trip from Seattle to Phoenix. Jericho was bitching a lot so we had to tie him up and stuff Mr. Socko in his mouth, but then Mick swerved the SUV, making me drop my stash on the floor, and the cops stopped us. I had to stuff all of the weed in my pants, man, and so we didn't have to explain Jericho we threw him in the back. But that's not the reason why we're in jail, those guys were nice and let us go. Afterwards Spanky had to take a leak and Mick wanted me to toss my stash into a lake, can you believe it? Fortunately Jericho got out of the van and fell into the water, distracting the guys enough for me to hide it again. Hurricane showed up via Gregory Helms and save Jericho, and so we went on our way. As we were going I nearly got busted by Jericho, who commented that my package was looking larger than normal. Matt stopped at this convenience store that was held up by this guy who probably wanted a few hits himself, but then he fucked up by saying that the gun wasn't loaded. Moving on we stopped at a motel where we watched one hell of a horrible home made movie, and then right after it the phone rang and said that we had seven days to live. Seven of us bolted, Mick stayed in the hotel. Suddenly Rene remembers that in order to live we had to copy the tape and eat it, or something like that, I don't really remember because that was when I finally got to smoke my stash. Matt nearly hit a hitchhiker and we would have gotten in trouble back then if the dude didn't have a joint himself. We all got high and woke up the next day all over each other and with a huge case of the munchies. So Cena smooth-talked an old man into letting us into this club, only it was a gay club called The Pink Flamingo and it got raided while we were there. And that is why we're all in jail and we need you to bail us out."  
  
Silence.  
  
"… Tommy?"  
  
Silence. Finally Tommy spoke again. "You have GOT to stop smoking that shit, Rob," and then he hung up.  
  
Dial tone.  
  
"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?" Rob wondered.  
  
**»»»**  
  
"You fucked up too, didn't you?" Matt accused.  
  
"I honestly have no idea," replied a very confused Rob, getting back into the cell and settling himself on the same bench he had previously vacated.  
  
"Oh great, it's up to Mick," Jericho said in dread as all seven of them turned to the retired wrestler, best-selling author and father of three.  
  
Mick Foley, to his credit, moved his queen forward and looked at his opponent with a triumphant grin. "Checkmate! Any chance you would let us go now?"  
  
"I'd love to, Mick, you know that," the aging officer he had been playing against said, scratching his head. "I'm a big fan, but I don't have any jurisdiction over releasing you. Take your time at the phone, though, ring up someone who can help you."  
  
"I intend to," Mick said, getting up and giving everybody else a thumbs-up as he finally took his turn.  
  
**cont'd**  
  
Phew, that was LONG… especially that bit with Rob Van Dam. Pretty fun to type though, and a good, if not spaced out, way to recap everything. I'm leaving with a bit of a cliffhanger here: Who will Mick call? Will that person actually be able to help? Will the bearded man in the corner make his move on Jericho? Will WWE ever stop hiring pretty faces with no substance and/or physical prowess underneath? Only time will tell for the last one, but the others will be answered in the next chapter!


	10. And Another Makes Nine

  
I've got my computer back... sort of. My files are all missing and it may be a few more weeks before I get them back, if I ever get them back. Well, no use griping, at least I've got a working PC now. Nothing like the hum of the system unit to inspire the mind again. Wait a minute, is that fan supposed to be making such a loud noise...? 

Ah, whatever. Right now I managed to type down the tenth chapter of this fic as a sort of christening to this computer. I don't have the usual Microsoft Word, so this might be riddled with more typos and grammatical errors than usual, even though I double-checked it as best as I could. Oh, and for this and the previous chapter I finally did what I should have done in the first place: I checked a map. Now my places and timelines are a bit more accurate. Anyway, enjoy.

Date Uploaded: 15 November 2004

**Chapter 10: And Another Makes Nine**

Thankfully for the guys, Mick had one surefire ace up his sleeve. It was fortunate that one reason he had been late getting to the Seattle airport in the first place was that he had been on the phone with a certain rehabilitating superstar who happened to be spending a few days in Las Vegas. Now he dialled the given hotel room number, hoping that this wrestler had not decided to hit the slots just yet.

The phone was picked up on the fifth ring. A grumpy voice answered. "Hello?"

"Edge-ster! I'm so glad I caught you before you blew all your money away."

"Mick... what makes you think I haven't yet?"

"If you had you would either be so laden with booze and not be able to answer the phone, or your wife showed up to kick you in the nuts, in which case she would have answered."

Finally there was a laugh from Edge, signalling that his mood had lit up even just a little. "True, and true. In fact-- hey!" at this point Edge's voice moved away from the mouthpiece, apparently yelling to someone in the back. "No, no, please leave at least that one towel, I'm going to need it after my shower! And my clothes stay where they are!"

"Edge, what are you doing?" Mick asked suspiciously.

"It's not what you think!" Edge quickly insisted vehemently. "The maid cleaning out my room seems to be new and can't speak a word of English. My guess is she's from Puerto Rico. I'd flex my brain and try to root out any Spanish I know, but you remember what happened the last time I did that."

Mick had to grin, recalling Edge's attempt to tell an irate Mexican truck driver to move and accidentally telling him to screw a chihuahua.

"So, Mick, are you in town, or have you reached Phoenix by now?" Edge asked, finally turning away from the woman doing housekeeping.

"Not quite. Me and a few of the guys have been delayed."

"Delayed?" now Edge was the one who sounded suspicious. "You and a few guys? That sounds like the opening line for a long story leading to a big favor."

Nobody ever said Mrs. Copeland raised a fool. Mick chuckled. "And here I was thinking I was using my non-threatening, casual, Just-Calling-to-Say-Hi voice."

"No, that's more your I-Have-Something-I-Can-Use-to-Blackmail-You-So-You-Do-What-I-Ask voice," by this time Edge was definitely on his guard. "What is it this time, Foley?"

"I'd explain it all over the phone, Edge, but the guard's giving me the evil eye for taking so long already," Mick said, giving the officer one of his best smiles. "But come to the Beatty police station with eight thousand dollars and bail me, Jericho, Matt and a bunch of others out of here."

There was an extremely long pause on the other end. When Edge spoke again it was in a restrained voice. "I'm going to ask why you're with Jericho and Matt, or why you're in Beatty, not even why you're in jail. What I am going to ask, Mick, is why in the hell do you think I would travel the two hundred odd miles to that town and turn over that huge amount if money to get you out? What favors do I owe you lately to warrant something that big??"

"None," Mick said. "But if you don't come I'll find a way to spread that you enjoy listening to Hilary Duff's songs and have a Lizzie McGuire screensaver."

Another long silence followed that. And then Edge answered in a low growl. "I should never leave you alone with my PC again."

"Aren't computers wonderful?" Mick said, still grinning. "Is that a yes, Edge?"

"Assuming I can get this infernal woman not to make off with all my clothes, I'll be there in about two hours. Then I will bail all of you out, just so I can fucking kill you."

"Thanks, Edge. I knew I could count on you."

**»»»**

When Foley had returned to the cell the others, who really didn't hold much hope at this point, asked if he had come through merely for the sake of asking. Foley's reply was to nod cheerfully and go back to playing chess with the old guard, ignoring further questions from anybody else. Sure enough, in a little over two hours (enough time for Jericho to get into another fight, this time with an equally bitching inmate about their hair, Rene Dupree to attempt foreign immunity, Rob to discreetly ask Gregory if he could spare some urine in case the former was asked to give a sample, and Matt to gripe about cops rifling through their stuff, more panicked that they might have left traces of weed in the van) a guard strolled over and unlocked the door.

"You guys made bail," he said, looking even more relieved than the eight wrestlers did.

"And I was beginning to think Mick was just messing with us," Spanky commented as they filed out.

"Come on, Spanky, do I really look like the type of guy who would do that?" Mick said, adopting his best innocent look.

Spanky's answer was cut off when John Cena recognized the displeased-looking blonde waiting for them. "Hey, it's Edge! Didn't think it would be you Mick would sucker into bailin' us out, dawg. You happened to be in town or sumthin'?"

"Right," Edge snorted. "This is a two hour detour into my otherwise perfect week. You all owe me for this," he declared to the group, shooting Mick a particularly evil glare that was met with a non-plussed grin. The eight were gathering their confiscated effects as Edge barreled on. "I was just about to get some lunch and afternoon gambling in when all of a sudden Mick calls right out of the blue and asks that I bail you all out. It figures you would get into trouble simply passing through a town as quiet as Beatty!"

"For fuck's sake, Edgeward, you nag worse than my mother!" Jericho snapped at him. "Now I spent over four hours in that holding cell with these seven Cro-magnons and a bunch of other freaks who made them look civilized. Think you could stave off the bitching for at least an hour or so??"

The policeman behind the desk rolled his eyes, considering Jericho had been running his mouth the entire time they were there. It was safe to say that there was a general feeling of peace once the door had closed behind the group of eight plus one.

"I see your tongue is still intact, Jericho," Edge said dryly as they stepped out into the afternoon light.

"Yeah, and you'd think he would have worn it out by now," Spanky groaned.

Mick grinned at Edge and clapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, thanks for coming to our rescue, Edge-ster. Don't worry, we'll pay you the eight thousand bucks back somehow. I think Helm's credit must be good, at least out of all of us."

Gregory started at that. "Really, Mick, must you keep volunteering me like this? I am no financial superhero, ehehehehe..." he reddened at having realized the error of his pun.

Edge gave him a weird look but then soon went back to complaining. "To top it all off, I had to take the bus to get here. You're passing through Vegas, right? Because I might as well hitch a ride; I'm not taking another Greyhound back to the city from here."

"Pushy, aren't you?" Matt grumbled at him.

"Damn right I am," Edge retorted. "And you can expect me to keep being so while I have eight grand hanging over your heads."

"If I paid you ten bucks right now how long would dat keep your mouth shut?" Cena inquired.

"Two minutes."

"Shit, fuck dat, then."

The party started to trudge over to where their vehicle had been towed and kept in the station parking lot. "How did you all end up in jail anyway? Mick, you haven't told me," Edge suddenly asked.

"Is that so? Then how did Foley get you to come here?" Rene asked in surprise.

"Because he's a sneaky, underhanded bastard, that's why," Edge said, throwing Mick another look of doom that the author took absolutely no notice of. "But I asked a question first. Now tell me how you ended up in a Beatty jail cell of all places?"

Matt tossed Spanky the keys but Jericho pushed his way in and caught them. "No way, pipsqueak, I'm driving. If not I'll make the rest of the trip a living hell from the backseat. Get in, all of you. You too, Wedge; we'll tell you the entire goddamn story if you're really so interested."

"Amuse me," Edge said, sqeezing into the backseat along with Cena and Gregory.

Rob had climbed into the storage at the back again. He let out a small noise of pleasant surprise. "They didn't search the van, I've still got some weed left from last night. Anybody interested?"

Moments later the van tore out of the parking lot, courtesy of Jericho's aggressive driving skills, and a bag with a small amount of pot flew out the window, courtesy of Edge. The latter object was picked up by two passing teenagers as the vehicle drove off.

**cont'd**

Now the group has an addition in Edge. Will he remain the grumpy voice of reason or will the immaturity and plain stupidity rob off on him in due time? What waits for the party in Las Vegas (hey, finally a place I'm familiar with!)? Will they make it to Phoenix in time for the show? Hopefully most of the answers to that will be covered in the next chapter!


	11. The Name Game

I've been dormant for so long, I know. We took a pretty long vacation this Christmas and New Year and it took me a while to scrounge up some inspiration to write.

Anyway, I've been planning a chapter like this for quite a while now. I got the idea for it after reading one of Spike Dudley's online commentaries at It's about a game he plays with some of the guys when they're stuck in a long drive. It's been a while since I've actually read the particular article because I've lost it among other valuable junk in my former system unit. I did get the gist of it, but I just know I screwed up a bunch of the rules. Oh well... here you guys go.

**Chapter 11: The Name Game**

Well Edge was pretty amused for much of the trip to Vegas, that could be said. He snickered through most of the group's earlier exploits, including tying up Jericho and much about the (thankfully) now disposed of weed. It was when the others finally coughed up that they were arrested during a gay club raid that really got him going, though.

"BWAHAHAHAHA! I can't believe—and you—HAHAHAHA!" Edge could barely get three words out, laughing too hard to do so.

Spanky rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, it's not that funny."

"In fact it was relatively one of the most boring times this entire trip," Gregory said.

Finally Edge's boisterous laughter mellowed into snickers as he got a hold of himself. "You can't honestly blame me for finding it hilarious, can you? I mean, the name alone should have set off warning bells. 'The Pink Flamingo'—only absolute idiots would have walked right into that with absolutely no inkling. Oh boy, wait until the other guys hear about this."

"You know, the only reason we're putting up with your wisecracks right now is because you're hanging eight grand over our heads," Matt said darkly.

"Come to think of it, that isn't a whole lot of money, jackass," Jericho said threateningly, overtaking a vehicle haphazardly and getting a horn blared at him for it. "Certainly not enough to keep us from keeping you quiet. You idiots still have the rope you tied me up with, right? Use it on Edgeward there if he decides not to shut his trap."

Edge raised a warning finger at Rene, who had turned around to look for the rope. "Don't even think about it. Tie me up and I'll make sure not just the guys hear about this whole thing but the entire wrestling fanbase. Smarks will be making jokes about this for years to come."

"On second thought, gag him wit Socko too," Cena said. "Dat thing's still wit ya, right Mick?"

Mick grinned. "Right here, nice and dry," he patted the waistband of his sweatpants.

"All right, all right, let's call a truce!" Edge said, now panicked as he backed up against one side of the vehicle, even as Cena and Rene moved to grab him. "I will keep my mouth shut the moment you guys pay me what you owe me. No one else will hear about this. Deal?"

Mick scratched his chin. "I don't know, what do you guys think about it?"

"Tie him up! Tie him up!" Jericho chanted from the driver's seat, narrowly missing a road sign ironically warning motorists to be careful.

"Considering that Edge did come all the way from Las Vegas to bail us out, I think that we should at least show him some courtesy, Chris Jericho," Gregory Helms piped up. "His suggestion is more than fair."

"Well at least one of you guys is still showing some sense," Edge said, looking a little bit more relieved.

"Killjoy," Rene muttered at Helms under his breath.

"Dudes, come on, leave the guy alone," Rob suddenly spoke up from the back. Despite not having had any 'medicinal treatment' in the past twenty-four hours, at least none that the others knew of, he still looked blissfully spaced out. "Come on, if we did tie him up, do you think we'd be able to get away with carrying another bound Canadian?"

"Yeah. Besides, he doesn't bitch as much as Jericho," Spanky said.

"I heard that, you snot-nosed little punk," Jericho snarled. Spanky merely grinned at him in the rearview mirror. He could afford to be cocky; Jericho couldn't reach him from where he was seated. Not until the next rest stop anyway.

"All right, all right," Matt said, having tuned out of the conversation a bit earlier in order to study their hardly legible map again. "Edge keeps the use of his limbs, end of discussion."

Edge grinned. "Great. Uh, why are you using the section of the map that's in Japanese?"

"Because, hard to believe, this is easier to understand than the English ones," Matt said gloomily.

"Fine," Jericho said, still in that snarl, irritably honking the horn as he passed by a van full of nuns. A confused Spanky could have sworn one of the sisters gave them the finger. "But since goody-two-shoes Helms thwarted yet another wrongdoing, he's paying the entire eight grand." 

"WHAT?" Helms squawked, knowing the now lamentable status of his credit.

"I'm down wit dat," Cena said nonchalantly, settling back comfortably into his seat.

This sparked off another long, and in most places quite pointless debate about the money. For this discussion Edge was contented to sit back and watch as the others pointed fingers, attempted to demolish egos, insulted family members and basically did everything short of a humiliating catfight that even Torrie and Stacy would have found demeaning. Miraculously it was settled that all eight of them would pay Edge a thousand dollars each.

"There goes my PSP money," Spanky groaned.

It was quiet then for a while, except for the frequent switching of the radio channels, courtesy of the erratic and impatient driver that was Chris Jericho. Cena bopped his head to some unheard rhythm, but didn't look all that happy with the frequent channel changes. Rene kept unconsciously flexing and unflexing his biceps, irritating Edge. Matt tried to figure out why this line on a certain Japanese character was different than the stroke on that one. Mick salvaged his cellphone and held a rather baffling and long conversation with his youngest son, Micky. Edge pondered hitting Rene with one of Jericho's suspiciously heavy suitcases. Spanky realized that he had to go again. Rob began to whistle tunelessly, shifting his tone slightly every time the music changed. As for Gregory…

"Who's up for a car game?" he suddenly asked out of the blue.

Everybody else looked at him like he had lost it. Actually Gregory felt like he might, considering that he was bored out of his mind. He had already made a mental checklist of what to do once they hit Phoenix, like taking his superhero suit to the Laundromat, and now couldn't think of anything else to do.

"I will pass, Helms, but please don't hesitate to wake me up when we start singing 'Ninety-nine Bottle of Beer on the Wall'," Rene said, his voice just as heavy in sarcasm as it was with his accent. 

"Please don't mention drinking," Spanky said, looking pained. He didn't dare complain about his bladder again, though; he had already forced the others to make disastrous stops more times than he cared for during the entire trip.

"Come on, it's better than sitting around in silence," Gregory said.

"As opposed to sitting around and bitching at each other?" Edge said skeptically.

"For the last time, I do NOT bitch!" Jericho declared.

"Funny how you assumed that comment was directed at you, Jericho," Mick remarked.

"Oh shut up—"

"So, as I was saying," Gregory quickly said, cutting off another redundant fight, "a car game. Spike Dudley told me of one he plays with his brothers when they are forced to make long trips to shows as well. All you—"

"Great, if I know da Dudleyz it's got something to do with tables and a lotta pain," Cena groaned.

"And how exactly would a car game involve wooden tables?" Matt pointed out.

"Hey, ya never know," Cena answered.

"Let me finish," Gregory said, sounding a little impatient this time. "It's a name game. Somebody starts by naming a certain wrestler, say…" he looked around, "Mick here." Mick grinned at him and gave a thumbs up. "'Mick Foley'. The person after him would then name another wrestler starting with the letter F."

"BORING," Jericho declared, yawning for emphasis. It was spoiled by him grabbing the wheel in order to frantically avoid collision with an oncoming semi. By this time the others, even Edge (hey, he took the bus getting to Beatty, remember?), were practically desensitized to bad driving skills.

"Better than nothing," Rob drawled. "I'm game."

"But what if the wrestler only has one name?" Edge asked.

"Well then use the second letter of the name," Gregory replied. "Using Mick again as the example," here Mick gave him two thumbs up, "by saying 'Mankind', the next player would then name a wrestler starting with A."

"I stand by my earlier statement," Jericho said.

"Why, Chris? Afraid one of us is going to best you in wrestling trivia?" Matt challenged. He had given up on the map earlier on and was now faking navigation, hoping the others wouldn't notice.

"You guys?" Jericho scoffed. "Yeah right, get real, junior. All right, let's play the stupid game. I'll even start: Chris Jericho."

"Typical," Cena snorted. "I'll trump dat easily: John Cena."

There were a few groans in the van and then Spanky took the next turn. "Chris Benoit."

"Batista," Edge followed up easily.

"Damnit," Mick said with a somewhat exasperated grin. "First name that popped into my head: Al Snow."

"S… Shawn Michaels," Matt said.

"Matt Hardy," Rob drawled out nonchalantly, merely grinning at Matt, who frowned.

"The Hurricane," Rene said next with a cheeky smirk.

Everyone else looked at Gregory, who incidentally came after him. He colored a bit, swallowed and then answered. "The Undertaker."

"Nidia," Jericho promptly said, punching once more at the radio station and getting the latest Mariah Carey single that sounded just like all her previous songs. He curse and swiped at the dials again, trying to find some decent tunes, and so didn't realize that the others were making incredulous faces at his back.

"'Nidia'?" Edge finally echoed. "Decades of professional wrestling and the best you can come up with is 'Nidia'?"

"Hey, she has a contract, much as I can't believe it either, dickhead, so she counts!" Jericho shot back.

"Fine, fine," Cena said placatingly. "Ivory then."

"Victoria." "What is this, a parade of the divas? The Iron Sheik." "Way to break up the line there, Edgester. The Rock." "Owen Hart." There was a moment of silence here until the next name followed. "Hollywood Hulk Hogan." "Hunter Hearst Helmsly." "Hardcore Holly." "That's not funny, you jackasses!" "Come on, Chris! You're not going to give up that easily, are you?" "Fine… H… Hercules Hernandez! Ha, gotcha there!" "Heidenreich." "He doesn't count; he sucks." "I invoke Chris' earlier 'Nidia defense'." "Geez, whatever. Eddie Guerrero." "Goldberg." "Oh sure, bring up the name of THAT dillhole."

This went on for about an hour more or so, until Chris and Edge got into a fight about using terms like 'The Heartbreak Kid', 'Texas Rattlesnake' and 'Mouth of the South' were valid. It culminated in Edge declaring that they would then have to accept 'More Guts than Brains' and 'Y2Jack-Off'. This caused Jericho to screech the vehicle to a stop on the side of the road, just so he could jump in the back and proceed to try and beat the living hell out of Edge. Everybody ended up dragging them outside to break it up, even as Spanky sneaked away to once again relieve himself.

"Sitting around doin' nothin' is startin' to look pretty good right about now, huh?" Cena said to Gregory, who simply groaned. That was the last time he suggested anything as stupid as a car game again.

**cont'd**

With that time-waster behind them, what kind of mess will the guys get into next? Will they actually attempt to tie Edge up if he gets too mouthy? Will they keep letting the maniac drive or will they make a lesser evil take his place? Will Spanky need to go again? Did this chapter bear any relevance to this story whatsoever? All this and more to be ignored in the next chapter!


	12. Vegas, Baby

Oh man, I didn't realize it's been at least eight months since I updated this thing. Well, not much to say, I just couldn't bring myself to actually arrange my ideas in story format and type it all down. It looks like their stay in Las Vegas is going to be a three-parter too. Anyway, just a few things - the timeline is somewhere between 2002-2003, I don't remember a whole lot of my three day visit to Las Vegas and I believe that the age limit is twenty-one. Er, rambling much? On to the chapter then.

Date Uploaded: 26 October 2005

**Chapter 12: Vegas, Baby**

Roulette tables, slots, chips, cards and Lady Luck. Combine that with flashy neon lights and you had Las Vegas, Sin City. By the time the nine stars arrived it was early evening and the city was really starting to come to life.

"All right!" Cena declared, leaning over the middle seat and jolting Mick and Spanky out of sleep. "Bars, babes and blackjack – about damn time this road trip started to look up!"

"Forgive me for reminding you, but aren't you broke?" Rene said pointedly.

"Hey, I still have da ten bucks you lost to me back in the slammer, remember?" Cena shot back gleefully. He rubbed his hands together. "All I have to do is hit one of the slot machines and I'll easily get enough cash to get me through 'til Phoenix."

"Kind of confident, aren't you?" Matt grumbled from his place in the backseat. "You do realize that there is no certainty in winning when it comes to gambling, right?"

"Not with dat attitude," Cena said.

"Suit yourselves, guys, but I'm going to turn in," Mick said, settling back into his seat as Gregory Helms, who was the one driving, eased the car into the direction of the Hilton.

"Again?" Cena exclaimed, looking at him incredulously. "This is Vegas, Mick! You gonna be a stick in da mud and call it an early night? I mean you did dat yesterday and—"

"Yeah, and I think I made the better choice," Mick said, grinning.

Cena waved it off. "Listen, der are times to sleep and times to party. This time is definitely in the latter. Look, we'll crash the Luxor first and move on from der. Now c'mon, I'll even loan you a quarter to get started."

"Thanks but no thanks," Mick said comfortably. "I've never gambled a cent while passing through Vegas and I don't intend to start now."

Cena rolled his eyes. "Suit yourself, dawg," he said, flopping back into his place and causing Matt to bounce up a little uncomfortably. He also hit Jericho as he did, and that unfortunately woke the previously snoozing Canadian blonde up. And you wondered why it was so quiet, huh?

"Damnit, Hardy boy, use Vanilla Ice over there as a throw pillow, not me!" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Where are we?"

"Outside the Hilton," Edge answered. He stretched and yawned. "So, are you guys dropping me off first before heading out?"

The other eight eyed each other. Edge frowned and raised an eyebrow. Jericho smirked. Spanky drawled out lazily, "I thought…"

"You thought…?" Edge prompted.

"Well, Edge-ster, we were actually talking about lodging a few hours back when you took a bathroom break over the side of the road," Mick said, obviously having been elected the spokesman over the usually tactless Jericho. "And we all settled that since it's pretty late and we're all decidedly broke, then—"

"Oh no, stop right there," Edge ordered quickly.

But Mick barreled along. "And you've got a pretty spacey room, right? So we were thinking that to economize—"

"NO, Mick. Absolutely NOT."

"Think about it first, would you? First off, I know you don't particularly like sleeping alone, so instead of the teddy bear nightlight you lug around from place to place you can have us around—"

"Shut the fuck up, Mick!" Edge near-squeaked, as Jericho and Matt burst out in a roar of laughter and Cena mimicked puppy dog eyes at him.

"And your chronic snoring won't be a problem for any of us, trust me – if Spanky doesn't drown you out then either Jericho or Matt will be happy to suffocate you with a pillow," Mick went on with a grin.

"Over my dead body!" Edge yelled.

"That can be arranged!" Matt added not-so-helpfully.

"He was kidding," Mick said as Edge gave Matt the finger. 

Matt promptly returned it by loosening his belt and attempting to moon him, but Helms, who spotted a stray cat run across the road, gave a yelp and slammed the brakes. Matt therefore lost his footing and tumbled headfirst into the back, his pants around his knees, and onto a sleeping Rob. The van gave another thunderous jolt (it had withstood a lot on the course of this road trip) and behind them the horn of a car blared loudly.

"Jesus, Matt…" Rob groaned, shoving the older Hardy brother off him. "Couldn't you guys just kinda tap me on the shoulder or something if you wanna wake me up? And why do you have your pants down?"

Somewhere behind them a camera flashed. They both turned to see Spanky gleefully looking down at them. "I found my camera," he said needlessly.

"You're dead, kid," Matt growled at him as he struggled to pull his pants up.

"Everybody okay?" Helms asked, ignoring the angry yells at them from other motorists.

"Just drive, Hurricane," Rene said. Helms opened his mouth to argue but then simply sighed and shut it again. The vehicle started up once more and moved back into traffic.

"What do you say, Edge?" Spanky asked, waving his camera at the blonde. "We get to crash your room one night for this roll of film, plus we'll pay you back afterwards too, of course. I believe I also have a few pictures of Jericho tied up like a cocoon from earlier in the trip."

"You little shit, give me that!" Jericho cried, but Edge quickly snatched it before he could.

"All right, fine," Edge said. "I'll take the film and put you assholes up for one night, but you have to pay me back within the month. Deal?"

All of the eight others gave noncommittal grunts that Edge should have taken as a warning sign but stupidly didn't. Mick grinned and settled back comfortably in his seat. Edge didn't know it, but he had more than a tied up Jericho and Matt's naked ass on that roll of film. They continued to the Hilton.

**»»»**

After depositing all their stuff at Edge's room and leaving Mick and Matt (who claimed he was tired and sore, prompting more teasing from Jericho and Edge) there to get the rest they claimed they wanted, all the others headed their separate ways. Cena headed off to the Luxor, Rene, Jericho and Gregory to Caesar's Palace, Spanky to Circus Circus, Edge to MGM Grand and Rob to suspiciously scour the back streets of the city.

At Caesar's Palace Jericho and Gregory were let into the bar with no questions. When Rene tried to order a drink, however, the bartender dutifully asked him for an ID. Grumbling something about looking old enough by now, in French, of course, Rene fished out his driver's license and handed it over.

The bartender looked it over and then shook her head. "I'm sorry, sir, but the legal drinking age in Vegas is twenty-one."

Rene's jaw dropped. "Are you serious?" He was a year shy of the limit.

"Yes, sir. The legal gambling age is twenty-one too."

The French Canadian continued to balk at her. Jericho and Gregory ever so helpfully snickered at him.

"So I'm sorry, sir, but I can't serve you any alcohol," the bartender said apologetically. "Would you like a soda instead? Some juice?"

"Can't drink, can't gamble, so what the hell are you going to do in Vegas, junior?" Jericho mocked.

Rene gave him the finger and then turned back to the bartender. "Look, what's a couple of months? Surely you can slip me at one beer or something, right?"

She shook her head. "And risk getting fired? All the casinos have EYES, man, you should know that. Haven't you ever watched the show Las Vegas?" she handed him back his ID. "There are some good arcades around, and live shows, so you should find a lot of things to do."

"Yeah, you might want to bring Mick out as a chaperone or something," Gregory said, chugging on his drink and showing that he would be long gone before the night was over. "You know, just in case the roller coasters and other rides scare you or something."

Jericho roared. "Hey junior, you're not half bad when you're wasted," he said to Gregory. He whistled for the bartender. "Hey chick, another glass for my superhero friend here!"

"How many times do I have to tell you guys that… aw fuck it," Gregory said, taking the second glass greedily and downing it.

Still growling French obscenities, this time to his two fellow wrestlers at the bar, Rene stalked out to assumingly hunt for some clean fun, just as Jericho ordered another round for himself and Gregory.

**»»»**

The dealer at the blackjack table glanced up dryly as a ten dollar chip was slapped down in front of him. "All right," Cena looked at his name tag, "Dean. Let's get dis game started, what do ya say? Deal me some cards, man."

"Ooh, ten dollars, you're really going all out tonight, aren't you?" Dean mocked.

"Cut the sarcasm, pin stick, and deal, will ya?" Cena snapped at him, thumping on the green felt impatiently.

Dean rolled his eyes and handed out the cards. Cena looked down at his hand – eight of spades and the king of hearts. The dealer had an ace of diamonds. Cena contemplated his move for a nanosecond before saying, "Hit me."

"What are you, nuts?" Dean said incredulously. "You know, I rarely hand out advice, especially to clueless nubs like you, but I really think you should STAND."

"If ya don't wanna be shitting out dis deck of cards for the next two days you'll do as I say," Cena threatened.

"Fine, fine," Dean grumbled. Then he muttered under his breath, "Dumbass says, 'what?'"

Cena mumbled something, making Dean inadvertently ask, "What?"

"I said, hit me, dumbass," Cena said, smirking.

Thoroughly annoyed by now, Dean slapped the card down, satisfied that this muscle head in front of him would bust. He gaped. The card was the three of hearts.

Cena grinned at him. "Blackjack. Dealer says what?"

Dean turned his other card. It was the nine of clubs, bringing his total to twenty. "You win," he said grudgingly.

"All right, sweet!" Cena said. "I'm feeling lucky tonight, dawg. Deal again."

**»»»**

Back in Edge's room at the Hilton, Mick exited the bathroom to find Matt Hardy digging around in the fridge. "Fuck, I'm so hungry," Matt was saying, straightening up. "And that tool Edge cleaned out the fridge already." He looked at the mini-bar. "Seems to have most of the drinks still intact though. Funny, I thought he would go for that first," he plucked one of the little bottles and opened it.

"Edge? I'm willing to bet he's drunk half the contents of those things and then refilled them with water. The bastard's even cheaper than I am," Mick said.

Matt took a sip from the bottle and promptly spat it out. "What an asshole," he said. "And he used tap water too." He looked at Mick. "So what do we do now? Want to go downstairs and get some grub at a buffet or café or something?"

Mick had flicked on the TV and was surfing through the channels. "Nah, I have a better idea. Hey, 'Spiderman' is on pay-per-view," he said, grinning as he began to key in something on the remote control.

"What are you doing?" Matt asked.

"Ordering the movie, what does it look like?" Mick said. "Now pick up the phone and call room service while I figure out this thing."

Matt grinned as he picked up the phone and hit zero. "You do realize Edge is probably going to club us to death when he finds out what we're doing, right?"

"Eh, his doctor's still restricting any strenuous physical activity, I'd say we still have about two months or so before he can attempt anything like that," Mick said with a shrug. "There, got it. Hurry up, the movie should start in a while."

Matt laughed. "Right, operator? Get me room service, please."

**cont'd**

Well, that's that. Will Rene find something worthwhile to do seeing as he's not of legal age? How wasted will Jericho and Helms get? What'll happen when Edge finds out what Mick and Matt are doing in his room and to his bill? Will Spanky and Rob appear in the two parts? Only the next chapter will tell!


	13. Lucky and Unlucky Breaks

Well, at least it didn't take me eight months for an update this time. I think this chapter is a significant improvement from last time, because I had a great time doing it. Also, I didn't realize I had named the dealer here the same name as the one used fr Ryan's roommate in 'Earning Those Stripes' - both guys are called Dean. Damnit. That'll teach me to just jot down any name that comes to mind. But, anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter.

Date Uploaded: 11 November 2005

**Chapter 13: Lucky and Unlucky Breaks**

While Rene Dupree was out sulking somewhere about being underage, Spanky was in a similar situation, but handling it much better. The blonde cruiserweight, owing to his wavy hair and boyish demeanor, gave off the unfortunate impression that he was somewhere between the age range of fourteen to seventeen. To make matters worse he had forgotten any sort of identification back in his bag, which was in Edge's room. Sure, he could have gone back for it, but the hike to the hotel and back would have been a pain, and having to explain to Mick and Matt about it would no doubt be an even bigger pain.

And so he decided to make the best of the situation, having bought an ice cream and eating it while waiting for a turn on the Dance Dance Revolution machine behind a bunch of kids and teens. This, of course, made him appear even noticeably younger than before, but he was beyond caring by now. It was at this time that some excited little girl gleefully yelled out, "The show is starting! The trapeze show is starting!"

At that a sizeable number of children in line, most who had parents frantically searching for them, no doubt, broke away and headed for where the trapeze act had been set up, high above with a large net underneath. Spanky, caught up with the crowd, headed over as well, still licking his pistachio and mango combination ice cream on a waffle cone. He pushed himself over to the front.

"Hey, watch it!" a kid who looked about nine wearing an backwards baseball cap and ironically a Triple H jersey sad to him.

"Tough luck, kid, I'm bigger than you," Spanky told him in a bored voice, something he didn't get to say everyday.

Unbeknownst to both of them a very nervous apprentice trapeze artist was gearing up for her first big show. The lights came on, the music hit and she forced a smile on her face that bordered on a sick leer. Fortunately not many people on the ground could see. Some from the second floor balcony could, though.

The catcher swung from the other side, waiting. And she gripped the bar of the trapeze and was off, intent on nailing her first trick perfectly.

From below, the irate nine-year old chose that moment to shove Spanky from behind, causing the blonde cruiserweight to stumble over the barrier and fall beneath the net. Security on duty immediately called out sharply towards him and for the show to be stopped momentarily, but the nervous girl above already launched into the air, performing a series of flips and pulling it off magnificently, but failing miserably to grasp the catcher's ready arms. She plunged towards the net…

And Spanky staggered to his feet at the same time, causing the young acrobat's rear end to make violent contact with the top of his head.

While the girl was bruised but virtually unhurt, left bouncing on the net, Spanky was out cold. The show was stopped for that night as a doctor was called, Spanky was catered off and in the audience a worried mother wondered why on earth her darling nine-year-old boy was snickering into his jumbo cup of Coke.

**»»»**

"This blows," Rene muttered to himself, actually sounding quite American at the moment. Fortunately he was walking the streets alone and as such none of his other eight companions had the chance to rib him for it.

It was preposterous. He was twenty years old, an adult! A year short of the limit indeed; what did a measly twelve months matter? He was old enough to take several shots to the head and the groin in the ring but not old enough for drink? Scowling and whining in his head, he continued on his way back to the hotel.

And that was when he looked up and noticed the form of Rob Van Dam strolling down the same street, whistling nonchalantly. Robbie V caught sight of him and waved. "Hey, dude, I thought you were with Chris and Greg. What're you doing walking around here?"

"Nothing," Rene replied, none too anxious to share his predicament with him. "What are you doing here?"

"Just walking around, man, getting some fresh air and stretching my legs," Rob answered easily enough. He looked suspiciously at the Frenchman. "C'mon, dude, whatever it is that's eatin' ya, you can tell me. We've foiled a robbery together. We've gotten high together," – at this point Rene looked around furtively, wondering if anybody had heard that – "We've even tied up Jericho together. If that doesn't make us buds I don't know what does."

"You must have a very interesting group of friends," Rene told him dryly.

Rob shook it off. "My point is, if there's something bothering you, you can tell me. I might even be able to help."

"Right," Rene scoffed. "Okay, if it'll make you leave me alone then here it is: I'm below the legal age in this city. I can't drink, can't gamble, basically can't do anything that this city equates to fun, all because I've yet to turn twenty-one. Are you happy now?"

Rob blinked, taking a moment to digest the situation. "Dude, is that it?"

"What do you mean, 'Is that it'?" Rene mimicked angrily.

"Listen, I'm pretty sure they have these in France too, but I'm going to share with you a little secret. There are means around that shit. Specifically, for a measly forty bucks you can get bogus proof that you're twenty-one, twenty-nine or even forty-nine if you can pull it off."

Rene gave him a dumb look.

Rob sighed. "Damn, and I thought I was slow. I'm talking about a fake ID."

Rene's eyes widened. "You know where I can get something like that?"

Rob grinned at him. "Are you kidding me? I can get virtually anything for a pal." He slung an arm around the younger man's shoulders. "Now come with me, there should be a guy around here somewhere…"

And the two walked off, Rene in noticeably lighter spirits than earlier.

**»»»**

Back at Caesar's Palace, the two guys Rene should probably have never left had already warmed up to about seven shots of tequila between the two of them, plus a few other drinks on the side. That, of course, meant that they were way gone and would no doubt need a friendly soul to call them a cab to wherever they were staying that night.

But for the moment Jericho and Helms were happily still laughing at the predicament of their underage companion and his subsequent departure. "Thinks he's the shit and over here he can't even order a beer," Jericho slurred. "I tell you, man, he was ready to go ape-shit on that bartender chick there. Hey," he called, winking flirtatiously at said bartender, who studiously avoided his eye.

Helms chuckled, and then looked blearily at the multiplying glasses in front of him. "Hey, you don't think that maybe – hic - we've had enough, do you? I mean, I think there's about three of you in my line of vision now…"

Jericho staunchly shook his head and dizzied himself even more. "Enough? We just got out of jail from due to a raid at a gay club! We deserve every last drop. And - hic - more." He motioned to another bartender. "Hey sweetie," he said, neglecting the fact that it was a man who simply had his long hair tied in a ponytail, "Another round, on me."

"Awesome. Hey, you know what, man? I gotta tell you a secret," Helms said, trying to look seriously and swaying slightly.

"Eh? What's that?"

"I've got a secret entity. No, that not - hic - right… I've got a secret IDENTITY! That's it. And I think people have been on to me, so I'm just gonna come right out and admit it to you," Helm said, leaning heavily on Jericho's shoulder to speak in his ear. "I'm the Hurricane," he said in an exaggeratedly loud whisper, audible enough to almost everybody in the room.

"No shit," Jericho said, actually managing to sound sarcastic despite being completely hammered.

Helms nodded. "There I've said it. That's a load off."

"Hey, whatever you are, man, I'm - hic - always here for you, you know that."

"Thanks," Helms said gratefully. Almost as an afterthought he added, "I love you, man."

"I love you too," Jericho said, throwing an arm around him and pouring another drink. "Now let's have another drink before we drop!"

**»»»**

Edge knew he probably should have stayed behind to see that Mick and Matt didn't thrash his hotel room to godawful proportions, but the thought of sitting in between cheerful mocking of Mick and the outward taunts of Matt was about as appealing as suffering a Stinkface from Rikishi. And so he ventured out into the city as well, hoping to have a little fun and take his mind off his injury, his column, and the jerks who were staying in his hotel room.

And so he did, only to hit MGM Grand, lose spectacularly at the first roulette table and wonder if he would still have any money left in his account before this trip was over. Now he sighed and drank a cup of coffee by the Lion Habitat, watching the large felines laze around and seem to look contemptuously back at him.

"Let me guess, had a bad night at the tables, hmm?" a voice to his left said.

Edge turned to find himself face to face with a stunning brunette with a heart-shaped face and baby blue eyes. She smiled at him and turned back to the lions. "Sorry, felt like I had to speak up. You look like a guy down on his luck."

"Let's just say I've felt better," Edge said, managing a small grin.

"I'm Megan," she introduced herself.

"Adam," Edge said, shaking her hand.

Megan, showing that she was not at all familiar with pro-wrestling in the least, flirted on. "So, feel like grabbing a table by the bar and buying me a drink, stud?"

Edge thought about it. He thought about his wife. He thought about the boys with their big mouths. He thought about his reputation. And he threw all of it to the wind. "Why not? Let's go."

"That's what I wanted to hear," Megan said with a charming smile. "Oh, and Adam? Play your cards right with me and your luck just might change tonight," and with a wink she led the way, Edge eagerly following behind her.

**»»»**

At the Luxor, Cena now had hefty stacks of chips in front of him and had attracted a crowd, with two giggling blondes hanging at either side. He grinned at Dean, dealer. "So, not bad for a ten-buck start, huh?"

"I guess not," Dean said begrudgingly. "I think I should warn you, though, you might want to quit while you're ahead."

"Are you kidding me? I'm on da biggest winning streak of my life!" Cena scoffed. "Now hit me, jackass."

Dean sighed and drew the card.

**»»»**

"I am stuffed," Matt declared.

Mick was about to echo his sentiments but cut himself off with a loud belch. The two of them sat on the queen-sized bed, and all around them were the remnants of what could have been on one of the buffet tables downstairs. Chicken bones, pizza crusts, unfinished salads, prawn skins, leftover mashed potato, crumpled paper napkins, beer bottles and such were littered everywhere.

"And we're only forty minutes into the movie," Matt said, shifting to make himself more comfortable and knocking a plate of ribs to the floor.

"Movie? Oh, right, the movie," Mick said, nodding vaguely to the Spiderman flick he had ordered and thoroughly ignored once the food had arrived.

"Hey, do you think we should have saved some for the guys when they got back?"

"Screw that, let them get their own damn food and put it on Edge's bill themselves." "Far be it for me to argue," Matt said, patting his stomach. "So, what do we do now?"

Mick thought about it. Then his eyes wandered to the phone. "Hey, I have some relatives in Germany I've been meaning to give a call. Think I should drop them a line now?"

Matt grinned devilishly. "Yeah, go for it. And Jeff's been bugging me to call him for a while, not to mention a few friends in Australia. I'll go after you."

And so Mick picked up the phone and began to dial.

**cont'd**

Time for the obligatory senseless footnotes! How much will Matt and Mick end up racking on Edge's bill? Will Edge have a good time with the brunette or will he fall flat on his face? How much more wasted can Jericho and Helms get? How much longer can Cena's winning streak go on for? Will Rob really be able to get Rene a fake ID? Is Spanky okay? All this and possibly much more in the next chapter!


	14. Even More Lucky and Unlucky Breaks

Another chapter that has been in the works for a while and recently completed. It looks like I'm going to be dwelling on the guys in Vegas for much longer than I initially thought. Not much for words right now, so let's just move on to the chapter.

Date Uploaded: 30 May 2006

**Chapter 14: Even More Lucky and Unlucky Breaks**

"Dude, that's pretty sweet," Rob commented.

"It's flawless," Rene said in something akin to awe, holding the plastic card in front of him and examining it thoroughly.

Despite the fact that it had actually cost him upwards of seventy dollars to procure, Rene felt it was worth it. They had located a scalper outside MGM Grand who had taken them to his 'office', which was basically nothing more than a little hole in the ground underneath a dilapidated building. From there he had fixed everything up, and Rene was now the proud owner of a surprisingly authentic-looking driver's license that stated him to be twenty-four and from Milwaukee.

"Best part is, man, the date on it makes it good for another three years, so you can use it anytime," Rob said, shuffling down the street beside him.

Rene tore his attention away from the card a moment to give Rob a dry look. "I turn twenty-one in the next year, Rob. I won't be needing this then."

"Whatever, man," Rob said, shrugging his shoulders. "Oh, hey, you may want to drop the accent and everything. You're not from Quebec anymore now."

"I'm from Paris."

"Dude, whether you're from the Himalayan Mountains, it doesn't matter. Drop the goofy accent or you're going to get found out before you can hit the tables."

"Fine," Rene snapped, pocketing the card. He relaxed and immediately his voice lost it's pompous air and concocted accent, replacing it with dry sarcasm and a tinge of whininess so popular with the youth of today. "Now are you going to baby-sit me for the rest of the night or do you actually have something better to do?"

"Hey, not bad," Rob said, giving him an approving thumbs-up. "Now slouch a little. Don't look like you've got something shoved up your colon all the time."

"Thank you, Rob, I think I can take it from here," Rene snapped back irritably, not appreciating Rob's 'helpful' little tips to de-French himself, so to speak.

Rob shrugged again. "Fine, man, whatever. Have fun with your new toy, see you in the morning, and don't get into any trouble I wouldn't."

"Well that leaves me with a lot of leeway," Rene said, mostly to himself as by then Rob was already sauntering up the road, whistling nonchalantly. Rene patted his pocket self-assuredly and turned, intending to head back to Caesar's Palace. Can't gamble, can't drink, huh? He would see about that.

**»»»**

Cena nervously drummed his fingers on the green felt. It had been fifteen minutes since his run of good luck seemed to have passed on to the now raucously laughing and unmistakably tipsy young brunette two tables up. The crowd that had been gathered around him had been reduced to simply one blonde at his right, no longer giggling and scouring the area for another big winner.

In front of him, Dean the dealer gave a relaxed smile. "Your move."

Cena looked down at his hand. He had a seven and a five. The dealer's hand was no better with a three and a four. Finally Cena licked his lips and resignedly said, "Hit me."

Dean gave a look that could have said, 'Your loss, knucklehead,' and then drew a card. It was the Queen of Spades. The bitch.

At that the blonde gave a sigh. "Listen, I'm out of here, look for me when you're raking up the big numbers again, hotshot," and with that she blew him a lazy kiss, took her purse and left.

As Cena groaned and put his head in his hands, Dean happily took more chips from his rapidly diminishing pile. "So, another hand?" he asked smugly. "You're down to the ten you started with."

Cena looked up and found that the dealer was right. There in front of him was the lone ten dollar chip that started this all. He reached out and took it. "Nah, I think I've finally learned da golden truth 'bout Vegas."

"And what's that?" Dean asked.

"Sooner or later, da house always wins," Cena said, putting his cap firmly back on his head. He flicked the chip in Dean's direction. "Here. And fair warning, buddy, if I ever see you outta Vegas, I may kick your ass."

Before Dean could ascertain whether that was a threat, Cena had stridden off, intending to find one of the guys and bum some dinner off them.

**»»»**

Mick put down the phone, after making a long and extremely costly call to an obscure cousin living in Okinawa. Before that he had telephoned his family, a friend in Berlin, and an aunt vacationing in Puerto Rico. Matt also had his turn, talking to Jeff, a few buddies down under and even picking a fight with an old girlfriend who had long relocated to Singapore.

"So, on a scale of one to ten, how mad do you think Edge will be?" Matt asked, slumped in the bed and still doggedly stuffing potato chips into his mouth. He called it his fourth wind.

"About thirty-three," Mick replied with a grin.

At that point the phone rang. The two of them looked at it quizzically, and then at each other. "You didn't ask anybody to call you up here, did you?" Mick asked Matt.

"No. I told them I would call them, naturally," Matt said. "It may be Edge."

"In which case we shouldn't pick up," Mick said, scratching his chin. "Then again, it may be one of the other guys."

"They know the number to this place?"

"Only a select few of them thought to ask," Mick said. "Gregory for one, Spanky for another. Surprisingly even Rob did." Now Mick pondered that and groaned. "I hope it's not Rob."

"So are you going to pick it up? All our stalling hasn't made them put their end of the line down," Matt pointed out.

"Oh fine," Mick said, giving in and picking the phone up. "Good evening, welcome to the local morgue, how may I serve you today?"

There was a momentary pause on the other end. And then a serious voice asked, "I'm sorry, but is this the hotel room of one Adam Copeland?"

"Yeah, I was just yanking your leg," Mick said jovially, now wishing that he hadn't tried to pull such an immature gag. "Adam isn't here right now but I'm his friend Mick. Is there something wrong?"

"It's not anything overly-serious, sir, but do you know a Brian Kendrick?"

"Spanky?" Mick was confused and now a little alarmed. "Yes, I do know him. Is he all right?"

"Nothing to worry about, sir. Mr. Kendrick was involved in a small incident at Circus Circus earlier and was accidentally knocked out. He's come to now, but we've insisted that if he has anybody in the city they come fetch him rather than let him walk back too the hotel alone. He's given this number."

"Right, we'll come over as soon as we can. Circus Circus, you say? We'll be there in about ten minutes, thanks for calling," Mick said, hanging up.

"What about Spanky?" Matt asked, pushing himself up.

"He got himself knocked out at Circus Circus," Mick said, pulling his jacket on. "I'm going over to get him. You coming? Would do us good to get out of this hotel room for a while."

Matt gave a belch and then managed to roll out of the bed. "All right. If I get to Phoenix looking like a walrus anyway Stephanie will have a fit."

Mick patted his own belly. "I guess I'm more conditioned than others when it comes to certain things. Come on then, Hardy boy, and try to keep up." Matt waved him over and the two of them left, Matt closing the door after him.

**»»»**

Meanwhile Edge followed Megan the brunette down the hall towards he hotel room. Even as she pulled his hand and giggled at him, he still had his doubts. He really shouldn't be doing this, but turning down a potentially great night with this unknown woman to bunk with eight other guys in his own room seemed particularly stupid to him right about then. Must have been the glasses of alcohol swirling in his system.

Quite a few, it had had to be. Edge had stopped counting past three, and now his vision had more than tripled as well. He shook his head and tried to focus on Megan, who was also a bit wasted herself and fiddling with her keycard for much longer than it would have taken her had she been sober.

"Here we are, room 1306," Megan said, pulling out the room card and slipping it into the slot. The door swung open. "No going back now."

"I guess not," Edge said, and then was cut off as Megan pulled him inside and pressed her mouth to his. The door closed and the two of them clumsily fell onto the bed.

"Ow," Edge muttered in the darkness. "Hey, there's something really hard in your purse and it's poking me in the leg. Mind getting rid of it first?"

Megan giggled again and drew him close to whisper in his ear. "I'm not carrying a purse, stud."

At that point Edge should have somehow put two and two together, but considering his less than temperate condition, he didn't. As such much of what happened that night passed through a confusing swirl of Megan in a blur, giggling, a bulge on his leg that didn't seem to be his and trying to stay awake long enough to get things over with. He also vaguely recalled thinking that he hoped to God that he wouldn't somehow regret this in the morning.

**»»»**

"So, Spankster, let me get this straight, you got knocked out by a five year old and the rear end of a trapeze artist?" Matt said, wondering whether he should laugh or belch, considering he was still stuffed from the pigging out he and Mick did earlier.

"You know, if this had happened to you I would have the decency to be a little more sensitive," Spanky said sullenly, his face red.

Both Mick and Matt gave him skeptical looks at that.

Spanky sighed. "All right, maybe not, but I would have at least waited a couple of minutes to be an ass about it behind your back. That's a tad bit more humane."

Mick laughed and ruffled Spanky's hair, causing the cruiserweight to slap his hands away irritably. The three of them had just exited Circus Circus, where Mick and Matt had arrived to find a restless Spanky, who had only wanted to get away from the nurse and said trapeze artist who had accidentally conked him out. Had he not been so embarrassed he probably wouldn't have minded that the two women were fawning over him, but as such he was happy to dash out of there with his two companions.

"Let's just get back to the hotel," Spanky whined finally, rubbing his neck. "I just want to crash on the bed and sleep the humiliation off."

"Sure, until morning comes and Matt and I have told everyone else. Then you'll have to endure the teasing and the mocking for the rest of tomorrow," Mick reminded. Spanky groaned at that.

"Unless the others got up to more shit than what happened to you," Matt said thoughtfully. "And knowing Jericho and Cena's potential to fuck up in the weirdest ways, you could only end up as runner-up to dickhead of the night."

"Ah, words of impending doom. Come on, Spankster, there's a turkey sub sandwich back at the hotel room that has your name on it," Mick said, as the three of them left the casino.

**»»»**

Meanwhile, Cena was also on his way back to the Hilton, watching the few glum faces passing by him and wondering how much they had lost, all the while trying not to think of how much HE had lost. As he walked he passed by a brightly lit chapel, the manufactured sound of tolling bells announcing that another couple had tied the knot, along with possibly a hundred others that night. Deciding to do something fun and utterly stupid before he got back to the Hilton and had to endure the ridiculing of his road trip companions, Cena walked up to the chapel door and entered.

Inside he was immediately greeted by two loudly-dressed figures, one a large man in a white outfit with a ten-gallon hat and the other a diminutive Asian woman with a feather boa. The two of them, rings on their fingers, smooched and giggled as they left the chapel. Cena turned to the receptionist dressed up like Dolly Parton, complete with a golden-blonde wig seemingly three stories high and a push-up bra stuffed with God knew what. She snapped her gum and smiled at him, revealing a lipstick stain on her teeth. "Hey darlin'. If yer plannin' on gettin' hitched yer gonna need a partner," here she winked. "I'm free."

"Actually, I'm here as a witness to the next marriage," Cena said, spinning out a lie that he hoped she would buy. "The groom's the brother of my ex-girlfriend's cousin. We're close."

"Okay, well," Dolly acquiesced, signifying that she was more than a little drunk that night. She turned to the curtain covering the main part of the chapel, lifted it and peered in. "But which groom are ya talkin' 'bout? The one on the left or the one on the right?"

"What?" Cena was baffled, quite certain that whatever Vegas got up to, it didn't sanction same-sex marriage, not yet at least. He went over to where Dolly was looking and stuck his head in for a peek as well.

"... And so by the power vested in me by the great powers that reign in the infinite galaxy of the place above known as heaven, or whatever," the minister dressed in an Elvis outfit slurred almost incomprehensibly, "I now pronounce you husband and bitch. Or husband and husband, whatever you happy folk like to call yourselves." Reverend Elvis let out a belch and leaned heavily on the podium.

"What happened to the 'You may kiss the bride' part?" a familiar, tipsy voice came from one of the figures in front of the minister.

"Does it matter? Neither of us are brides, junior," his partner responded in an equally tipsy and unmistakable tone.

And as the completely wasted Gregory Helms and Chris Jericho staggered to retrieve their marriage certificate from the zonked out assistant at the first pew, John Cens' incredulity finally burst out in uncontrolled laughter. "Holy shit, wait 'til the other guys get a load of THIS!"

**cont'd**

What kind of a mess will Rene get into with his new, shiny, fake ID? Why hasn't Rob gotten into any shit yet? How much will Edge regret in the morning, especially after he finds out what Matt and Mick have done to his hotel bill? What will Helms and Jericho do when they find out what they did the night before? Are gay marriages even sanctioned in Las Vegas? Will they EVER get out of Vegas? Only the next chapter will tell!


	15. Damage Control

I dawdled a lot in this chapter. Even I'm shocked at my inability to get to the point immediately. In fact, I'm doing it again right now. So I'm going to cut it short and say that I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Date Uploaded: 29 July 2006

**Chapter 15: Damage Control**

When Mick, Matt and Spanky arrived back at Edge's hotel room they found Rob waiting for them there, watching TV and polishing off a bag of potato chips left on the table. He looked up when they came in. "Hey. I was wondering what happened to you guys."

"Spanky here got into a little accident," Mick said.

"Mick, come on can't the stories wait until morning?" Spanky whined, not looking forward to a night of being made fun of.

"Oh sit down and eat your sandwich," Mick said, tossing the sub in his direction, even as Matt gave another belch and ducked into the bathroom. So while the blonde cruiserweight glumly chowed down, Mick relayed the entire incident to Rob.

When he was done Rob let out a solitary snicker. "Hey, that's pretty funny."

"That's it?" Mick asked, not being able to keep the incredulity out of his voice. "Is that all you have to say? That's prime material right there!" He gave Rob a suspicious look. "Goddamnit, Rob, are you high again?"

"No," Rob said easily, not even looking miffed at the allegation. "It's just that that's pretty tame compared to what I just heard."

"And what was that?" Spanky asked, curious and more than a little relieved that his embarrassing faux pas would possibly be overlooked due to something juicier.

"Cena called up about ten minutes before you guys arrived," Rob explained, tossing the now empty bag of chips into the wastebasket and missing it completely. "I could barely understand him because he was laughing so hard, but from what I made out he met up with Jericho and Helms. He said that the two idiots got completely hammered and got hitched. Exactly how and to whom he didn't say, but he said he would be bringing them back here in a while."

Spanky guffawed and promptly choked on his sandwich. He knocked over a few things while grabbing a jug of water and practically downing it in one gulp. The other two didn't seem to notice. Matt was suspiciously quiet behind the bathroom door.

Mick groaned. "Oh crap. I knew asinine things would happen tonight. I just hope that Chris and Gregory didn't pick up a pair of hooker transvestites or something."

Rob grinned. "Or Siegfried and Roy. Or Celine Dion and Dolly Parton. Think about it, Mick, there are a lot of things worse that you could pick up aside from a pair of transvestite hookers."

"Rob ARE you stoned?"

"Mick, do you WANT me to be?"

Mick fixed another doubtful glare at the self-proclaimed Mr. Monday Night ad then decided to momentarily let it go. "Well, at least that leaves us all accounted for, one way or another, except for Edge and Rene. You wouldn't happen to know anything about either of those two, would you, Rob?"

Rob shook his head. "Nah, I don't know what Edge has gotten up to."

Mick waited expectantly. "And what about Rene?"

"Like I said, I don't know what Edge and Rene have gotten up to."

Now more than a little irritated, Mick was about to demand that Rob cough up everything he knew when three loud thumps were heard on the door. Spanky, now having recovered, dropped the remains of his sandwich and went to answer it.

The moment the door opened the near unconscious form of Gregory Helms fell at his feet. "Shit, pick him up, would ya, Spankster?" Cena muttered, entering the room and dropping a similarly near comatose Chris Jericho at the foot of the bed. "Those two are heavy, yo. I had to practically carry 'em over two blocks and all the way up here."

"God, what did these two do, down a bar?" Mick asked, wrinkling his nose and helping Spanky dump Helms onto the bed.

At that moment the bathroom door finally opened and Matt emerged. "Uh, guys, you may want to give it a few minutes before you enter-what the hell happened to those two?" he asked, looking at Helms and Jericho.

"They're wasted," Spanky answered, a little unnecessarily.

"I can see that," Matt said. He sniffed. "I can smell it too."

"Woah, and I can smell somethin' else comin' outta the bathroom!" Cena said, making a disgusted face and waving his hand in front of his nose. "Christ, Hardy, close the damn door!"

Matt pulled it shut, rolling his eyes as he did.

"Dude, I thought you said these two got hitched," Rob said, giving Helms a poke in the shoulder and receiving a groan. "Did you manage to ditch their respective others or something?"

"What?" Cena gave him a confused look. "Dawg, I thought I toldya; Jericho and Helms did get hitched, all right. To each other." He triumphantly held up a piece of paper. "And I have the certificate to prove it."

All four lucid members of the group gave him stunned, disbelieving looks. And then Mick took the certificate and scanned it. "Oh crap, he's right. These two are now Mr and Mr Gregory Helms."

"And here I thought Jericho would be the one wearing the pants in this relationship," Matt said, snickering as he and Spanky both crowded around Mick to see for themselves.

"How the hell are these two going to react to this in the morning when they're both hungover and sore?" Spanky mused, looking down at the snoozing couple.

"I don't know, but I want a front row seat," Matt quipped.

Mick still didn't look like he believed it, as he was now studying the certificate thoroughly as if to ascertain that it was real. "You've GOT to be kidding me..."

At that moment the phone rang. Rob went over to pick it up. "Hello? Hey, Rene! How're you doing, man? Don't tell me you've gotten into some shit too, because we're already swamped here, dude…" Rob listened for a while and nodded his head, making grunts of affirmation here and there. Finally he said, "All right, don't worry dude, we'll be right over."

"Oh what now?" Mick asked, fearing the worst.

Rob grinned as he grabbed his stuff. "Guys, pick up the zonked-out newlyweds, we just scored them a honeymoon suite."

**»»»**

For an underage Canadian-Frenchman with a fake ID, Rene was actually have a pretty good night. Half an hour after hitting the craps table, he had a tidy stack of five hundred dollar chips in front of him. That grew to a few tidy stacks. Pretty soon he was sitting on a cool sum of $25 000. That went on to grow even further, and pretty soon he was approached by the casino staff and congratulated on his amazing round of luck. Then they asked him for valid identification. It was at that point that Rene had begun to sweat as he handed over his bogus driver's license.

The manager eyed it for a while, and then the gambling gods seemed to smile on Rene again as he handed it back to the French-Canadian with a smile. "Thank you, Mr. Simpson," he said, and proceeded to offer him a prestigious suite given only to the high rollers. It was from there that Rene, possibly giddy from relief and excitement, had an extraordinary bout of generosity and called up the others to share his amazingly good fortune with them. Hence the phone call.

When the guys got to the Monte Carlo, Cena Matt and Spanky had been delegated to dragging along the unconscious Jericho and Helms, both dressed in long coats, hats and glasses so as not to attract too much attention. They needn't have bothered; there was a loudly dressed drag queen in one corner who was attracting more attention than two comatose wrestlers ever would have.

Mick was the first to the counter and greeted the receptionist with a gap-toothed grin. "Hi, we're here to see our friend, his name is-"

"- Douglas Simpson," Rob quickly interjected.

"One moment, sir," the receptionist said with a pleasant, well-rehearsed smile as she went off to check the records.

Mick turned to Rob. "'Douglas Simpson'? Rob, are you sure there's nothing you want to confess to knowing before we get up in that room to see Rene?"

Rob shook his head. "Nah, I think I'll let Rene do the talking here."

Mick groaned and began to tell himself, "Someday, I will look back on this and laugh… someday…"

"Mr. Douglas Simpson is on the top floor in one of our penthouse suites," the receptionist said, still bestowing them with a beaming smile that had no doubt been well rehearsed for years. "He's expecting you. Just take the elevators to the right and go straight up. Enjoy your stay."

"Oh we already are," Rob assured with a smile of his own as he ushered Mick and the others along.

They got into the lift with an elderly woman dressed in a posh evening gown. The elevator ride up was made in relative silence, only to be broken by an extraordinarily loud belch from Chris Jericho. The woman wrinkled her nose in disgust. John Cena flashed a grin at her. "Actually, lady, he's not half as charmin' when he's sober."

She got off the floor before them and hurried along with her nose in the air. Matt and Spanky's snickers trailed after her.

At the top floor they located Rene's room easily. Mick gave it four loud knocks. After a beat they heard a muffled shout from inside and then the door opened to reveal a beaming Rene in a bathrobe. "Guys!" he greeted, sounding very American and thus very unlike himself. "Took you a while. I tested out the Jacuzzi already."

"What the hell are you doing wading around alone in a hot tub?" Matt said as he, Spanky and Cena entered the room and dumped Helms and Jericho onto the nearest large, beige-colored couch.

"Who said I was alone?" Rene said with a proud grin. Immediately the group heard girlish giggles coming from behind a large screen.

Cena let out a low whistle as Spanky and Matt's faces visibly lit up. "Well I'm glad one 'o us lucked out tonight. I'm impressed, Dupree, never thought ya had it in you."

"And what would make you think that I am incapable of having a good time every now and then?" Rene demanded.

"Well, you're way too uptight, for one thing," Cena said with a shrug.

Matt stretched his back, "Anyway, I'll leave you guys to talk or lecture the French boy, I'm hitting the hot tub."

"Me too!" Spanky chimed in, and he followed Matt, Rob trailing along at a slower pace and obviously not wanting to hang around for the talk about to happen between Rene and Mick.

Rene was about to go as well when Mick caught him by the arm. "Oh no you don't, Rene, you have some explaining to do."

Rene groaned and began to talk in his newfound American accent. "Mick, give me a break. It's nearly one in the morning and I just want to wind down and relax with a few girls. Hey, I set you guys up with a wicked pad tonight free of charge; you could at least be grateful for that."

Cena snickered at this point. "Man, we leave you walkin' around in Vegas alone and you get this entirely new persona. Maybe if we let ya keep goin' for a few more hours you could morph into Mick Jagger. And then Prince. And then Cher."

"Rene, I want to know how you ended up here of all places, and I want you to start from the beginning."

Rene sighed, "Fine." He began to narrate his journey, from being turned out of the bar where Helms and Jericho had started drinking, to getting a fake license with a little help from Rob, to winning big and then getting this suite. When he had finished Mick was shaking his head. "You do realize what kind of shit we could get into if this comes out, right? We'll be wishing we were still in that cell in Beatty."

"No one has to find out," Rene said with a shrug. "We take this room for tonight, relax, have some fun, and in the morning I collect my winnings. After that Douglas Simpson disappears."

"Can't we keep him around for a while?" Cena asked. "'Cause he's not as big a pain in the ass as Rene Dupree usually is."

Rene glared at him. "You know, I can still turn you out of this room."

Mick waved his hands. "All right, that's it. We will spend this one night in the suite. Tomorrow we will leave and continue for Phoenix first thing in the morning. Forget whatever you won, Rene, I'm cutting that fake card of yours up so you won't be able to collect it."

Rene looked horrified. "Are you serious, Mick? Do you really have any idea how much I won?"

Mick interjected, "I don't care-"

"Seventy-two thousand dollars."

Both Cena and Mick gave him stupefied looks. Realizing he had them, Rene smiled and regained some of his former pompous air. "That's right. Think about it, Mick. We take that, pay off Edge to stop him from bitching about the money we owe him, and I still go home a happy camper. What do you say?"

Mick blinked and regained his composure. "I say Matt and I kind of, sort of trashed Edge's room and ran up his bill. We owe him more than eight grand now."

Rene's smile disappeared and he scowled at Mick. "Damnit. Fine, I'll pay that too. So we have a deal? I collect the winnings?"

"Fine. But it ends tomorrow morning," Mick said, acquiescing.

"Good," Rene said. "Now can I get back to the hot tub?"

Mick wearily made a shooing motion and then went off to find the bed and get some shuteye, he was exhausted. He had counted on playing babysitter that night.

Rene was about to head back when he suddenly remembered that there were two of their number passed out on the couch, Helms snoring slightly. "What happened to those two?" he asked Cena.

Cena grinned. "They got completely shit-faced and married each other. You're lookin' at Mr. and Mr. Gregory Helms."

Rene blinked and then let out a roar of laughter. Without another word the two of them left the unconscious couple and headed to the Jacuzzi where the Matt, Spanky and Rob had joined the girls.

Once they slipped behind the screen Cena let out a noise of surprise. "Shit, it's you! The blonde from the blackjack table earlier! Damn, ya work fast, don'tcha? Get your ass outta here, who knows where the hell else you've been tonight."

"Oh, the high roller," she answered in a languid voice. "Won anything back or are you still down to ten dollars?"

"Come on, Cena, be nice," Rob admonished in a voice that plainly showed he didn't care what happened either way.

"Screw nice!" Cena declared. "Bitch thinks I didn't see her sneak a five hundred dollar chip from my table earlier, but I did! So hit the road, Sticky Fingers!"

And a moment later the said blonde, wearing only a white bathrobe identical to Rene's, was ejected from the hotel room. Her clothes and effects were flung after her, the five hundred dollar chip she had nicked from Cena bouncing off her forehead as the door closed.

**cont'd**

Now that Rene seems to be willing to foot the bill for their mishaps, can the guys breathe a sigh of relief? When will Mick Foley get back into character and once again become his jovial, lovable self? Do we want to know if Edge is still where we left him in the previous chapter? Does this count as a honeymoon for Helms and Jericho, who both still have to yet to wake up? Does it seems like I'm dawdling again? All questions to be ignored or at least vaguely answered in the next chapter!


	16. The Mourning After

While the fate of most of my unfinished stories are hanging in the balance, I am determined to finish this particular one. I figure there are still about three more chapters before this story comes to an end, provided I don't get some other crazy idea into my head and prolong the agony for these characters any longer. Anyway, here is the chapter.

Date Uploaded: 22 November 2006

**Chapter 16: The Mourning After**

Mick Foley awoke bright and early to the sound of someone violently blowing chunks in the bathroom. It wasn't the most pleasant sound on earth to wake up to, of course, but it did the trick and Mick rubbed his eyes, sitting up to take in the surroundings.

He had taken one of the unusually large sofas to sleep in, and he could see that the others had found different places to crash last night too. Rene was stretched out on the king size bed, Cena lying on his back almost vertical on top of him, mouth open and snoring loudly. Spanky was also with them, curled into a tight ball at a far end of the bed. On the floor on top of a pile of blankets was Matt, an empty bottle of champagne lying within arm's reach of him. Rob was curiously out of sight.

Mick got up, stepped over Matt's form and exited the sleeping area of the suite. In the main area he came upon Rob, sitting down to a breakfast. By the table was a tray piled high with food. He looked up when Mick appeared. "Hey Mick, g'morning. I ordered up room service. Help yourself."

"I intend to," Mick said, cheering up upon seeing the food. He went to sit down and noticed that Gregory Helms was still crashed out on the sofa they had put him on last night. "I'm guessing Greg hasn't stirred?" he asked, jerking a thumb in the mild-mannered reporter's direction.

"Nope," Rob said, stuffing scrambled eggs in his mouth. "Chris is up, though."

As if to punctuate that point there was another gagging noise, a rather loud yet still unintelligible curse, and then the sound of a flushing toilet. A minute later Jericho appeared, red-eyed, pale and looking like he had aged ten years in a single night. He stumbled over to them and dropped into an armchair. "I feel like shit," he finally said.

"You look like shit," Rob said uncaringly, still eating.

"How much did I drink last night?" Jericho asked.

"No idea," Mick said, spearing a piece of bacon. "But it was obviously more than enough."

Jericho blinked and blearily looked around. "Where the hell are we anyway? It took me almost five minutes to find the fucking bathroom. Almost didn't make it."

"We're in Rene's executive suite at the Monte Carlo," Rob answered.

"Van Dam, you keep shitting me like that and when I'm able to stand up straight without puking my guts out I'm going to kick your ass," Jericho snapped at him.

"But it's true," Mick said, chipping in. "After you and Helms ignored him at Caesar's Palace he went out, ran into Rob here and got a license proclaiming him to be a twenty-four year old Douglas Simpson from Milwaukee. From there he won really big and scored this suite."

Jericho was quiet for a moment as he let all that sink in, and then he groaned. "I picked the wrong chump to stick with last night."

To his surprise Rob and Mick immediately burst out laughing. "You have no idea, Chris," Mick said.

Before he could ask what that meant, Spanky appeared, rubbing his eyes. "I think John, Rene and Matt took the brunt of all that champagne last night. Hey, where are the girls?"

"There were girls?" Jericho said in bewilderment.

"I made sure the girls had taken cabs back to their respective hotel rooms before I turned in," Rob answered, still heartily digging in. "Call it a safety precaution for both parties. You were out already, Spanky."

"Wait, there were girls, AND Rob was lucid enough to be the responsible one?" Jericho said, now looking absolutely stupefied. "Goddamnit, you get hammered once in a blue moon and the entire fucking world turns upside-down!"

At that Rob, Mick, now joined by Spanky all went into peals of laughter. "You have no idea, Chris," Mick repeated again.

"All right, is someone going to tell me what is so fucking funny??" Jericho snapped, becoming irate.

"Oh please, can I tell him?" Spanky asked eagerly.

"Knock yourself out," Mick said, as he and Rob turned back to their food.

At that moment, however, Cena appeared, looking bleary-eyed and a little grim but still much better than Jericho did. "Hey, Chris, you're up. So, find out that you tied the knot last night yet?"

"Hey, I was just about to tell him!" Spanky sulked, even as Jericho gaped while he registered that. "Oh well, he knows now."

"I did WHAT??" Jericho shrieked, the last word said in a near ear-splitting crescendo that must have rattled in the skulls of those still asleep.

"Quiet!" Mick immediately hushed him. "Your beloved spouse is still asleep, for God's sake!"

"She's here??" Jericho exclaimed, not bothering to lower his voice at all. He looked frantically around the apartment. "Where? Shit, please tell me I didn't pick up some tubby, chain-smoking hooker grandma with enough botox to kill a horse…"

"You REALLY have a very vivid imagination, Chris," Rob said, grinning.

"Well??" Jericho demanded impatiently. "Where is she? The sooner I see how hot or not she is, the sooner I can formulate a plan to get the fuck out of here."

At that moment a figure crawled into their view. Gregory Helms, devoid of color in his face and clearly not seeing everything in their singular, natural state, groaned and asked, "C-can anybody tell me where the bathroom is? I feel like I'm going to heave up e-everything I've ever eaten since I was five…"

"You do know that's not possible, right?" Spanky told him.

Helms' response was to lurch and slap a hand over his mouth.

"Aw, crap, here, here, just fuckin' hold it in!" Cena said, dashing over and grabbing Helms by the back of his shirt. In moments the two of them had headed for the bathroom and disappeared from view.

"Shit, boy can't hold his liquor," Jericho said, taking the cup of coffee Mick handed him.

"You're not exactly Mister Bright Eyes yourself," Mick pointed out.

"Whatever, is anybody going to tell me where my supposed bride is or are you all just going to happily hang it over my head like the sick, sadistic bastards that you are??" Jericho said, getting back on topic.

Matt chose that instant to walk into the little party. "Hey, I think Rene had a little TOO much fun last night; he's refusing to get up." He then caught sight of Jericho and began to snicker. "Hey, does he know yet?"

"No I do NOT know!!" Jericho burst out, spilling coffee onto the rug. "Wait, that's not right, I only partially know! Are you finally going to be the one to tell me, Hardy Boy? Or will I have to wait for the French party boy to wake up??"

"Here Chris," Mick said, handing him a slip of paper. "It's a copy of the marriage certificate.

Jericho snatched it from him and quickly scanned it. His eyes rounded and looked like they were going to pop right out of his head. And then, thoroughly unconcerned about any noise limit, he let out a howl of despair, as the others around him burst out laughing. From the bathroom came the telltale signs of Helms throwing up.

**»»»**

Leaving that scene momentarily, back at the Hilton the only member of their party left missing in action stumbled up to his hotel room door. Edge lurched, belched unattractively towards the floor and managed to slide his card key into the door slot. As he did a series of thoughts and images flashed through his relatively sluggish mind.

The first was waking up in the morning next to the woman he had picked up last night. He stared at this Megan person for a while, slowly taking in her features in the morning light. She really wasn't as attractive as he had first made her out to be, what with the caked makeup that tried hard to cover up the wide jaw, lumpy skin and hairs on her upper lip.

And then she stirred and opened her eyes, smiling as she saw him. "Mornin', handsome. Had a good night's sleep?"

"Frankly, no," Edge groaned. "And my entire body is sore." He winced as he moved and a searing pain shot up his backside. "Ow! Some places more than others! What the fuck did we do last night?"

Megan laughed. "What didn't we do last night?" she said, snuggling closer to him.

And then Edge froze, feeling something under the sheets that was decidedly foreign, and getting a whole mess of blurred imagery in his mind that, disturbingly enough, seemed to involve him on the bottom.

"Oh come on, Adam," 'Megan' intoned. "I know what you experienced last night was new, but you enjoyed it at the time."

A full second later Edge burst screaming from the hotel room, eyes wild, clutching at his hair and fully convinced that he was forever scarred. Behind him Megan peeked out of his/her room and called out, "Oh fine then, but look me up when you drop by Vegas again, mm'kay?"

Now, in front of his hotel room, Edge gave a perceptible shudder as he pushed the door open. No matter what, he thought firmly, the other guys would NEVER find out about this. Even if he had to pretend that he had slipped and landed ass-first on a fucking stalactite as to explain why the hell he was walking this way. Now he stepped inside his room, expecting to find the guys still lying around snoring and barely beginning to stir.

What greeted him, however, was the little Hispanic maid running around and spewing Spanish curses as she tried to frantically tidy up. Well, tidy up what was close to a disaster zone as best as one could. Dirty paper plates, a crapload of half-eaten food, stains of various colors had splattered all over the room, and a suspiciously rancid smell came from the lavatory. None of the guys were in sight either, and neither was their luggage.

Too exhausted to wonder, Edge simply groaned and crashed onto the bed, not caring that he landed on a greasy plate and a melted cheesecake, the maid's berating voice carrying on behind him. This was definitely not one of his ideal vacations.

If he had looked up then he would have noticed a white piece of paper being slipped under the door. On it he would later read: 'Hey Edge-ster. Sorry about the mess. We took care of it, though, as well as everything else we owe you. Don't blow it all in one night. Have a nice day! – Mick and everyone else.'

It was safe to assume that the wacked-out group of eight had resumed their road trip and was once again headed for Phoenix.

**cont'd**

So finally the guys are back on the road again! How will the not so happy newlyweds fare? Who the crap is still fit to drive after last night? Will Rene be able to hang on to ALL of his winnings before the trip is through? And, the most burgeoning question yet, will I REALLY be able to finish this story within the next three chapters? More, or less, in the next chapter!


	17. The Absolute Final Rest Stop

It's drawing to a close, folks. As the road trip comes to an end so, thankfully, does this fic. Definitely only two more chapters in the horizon. You'd be surprised how much more shit one can cram into two chapters, though. For now, however, enjoy this one.

Date Uploaded: 17 May 2007

**Chapter 17: The Absolute Final Rest Stop**

To say that when the group resumed their drive the ride was uncomfortable was an understatement.

For one thing Rene, despite having cleaned house last night at the tables, was sulking by the door of the van. After assessing how much they had spent the night before in his suite and what the guys had done to Edge's room, the total bill had come up to about ten thousand dollars. Throw in the eight grand that they owed Edge for him having bailed them out in Beatty and he was down to roughly $54 000. Gregory Helms had then informed him of the charges the group had made to his credit card, Mick joined the conversation, and somehow Rene got suckered into using his winnings to pay for everything that had happened during the trip and everything that would happen.

"Hey, I won these on my own; how in the hell is doling it out to you guys fair??" Rene had demanded hotly.

"Notice that he's still talking in that American whine that we'll probably get really tired of in the long run," Matt commented.

"Let's put it this way," Cena said, putting an arm around him. "You foot the bill on this entire fucked up road trip we had to suffer, and nobody has to find out that you were wavin' around a fake ID last night when you won all that cash, okay, Doug Simpson? How does that sound?"

Rene didn't look happy at being blackmailed but saw no other choice but to concede. "Well when you put it that way…"

"Glad we could sort that all out then," Matt said. "Now will everybody just get into the goddamn van?"

And so at a little past nine in the morning, the eight wrestlers piled into their well-worn rental and were again on their way. Of course most of them were tired, sulking, hung-over and two were married, but all things considered Mick thought that they had fared pretty well in the city of sin. Now all they hopefully had in front of them was the road.

Well, not quite just yet. "Hey guys," Rob noted when they pulled onto the main road. "We're nearly out of gas. We're going to have to make a stop at the nearest gas station."

"Considering we're been driving for over two days, I'm not surprised," Mick said. "All right, but this will be the FINAL rest stop, does everybody get it?"

"We got it," Jericho snapped irritably. "What I'm wondering, however, is why nobody is saying anything about the fact that ROB is driving the van."

All heads turned to see that Rob was in fact the one behind the wheel. The pony-tailed high-flyer grinned. "Well I'm the only one who hasn't driven yet, and besides, almost all of you are too hung-over to take the wheel."

"And you're not??" Spanky exclaimed.

"Well, believe it or not, I had a revelation last night," Rob said.

"Oh, and what was that?" Jericho asked sarcastically.

"I decided that alcohol and drugs were dangerous vices and vowed that I would quit cold turkey," Rob declared, surprising everybody in the vehicle.

"That's pretty commendable, Rob," Mick said slowly. "But don't you think it's a little hasty, especially for you? I mean I know I made you throw out that bag of pot, but it actually took us getting jailed to pry it out of your fingers…"

"Trust me, Mick, this is for real," Rob said. "I mean, I never want to get to the point where I'm so completely out of it that I unconsciously sign a marriage document binding me to my drinking buddy."

As Spanky, Rene, Cena and Matt roared out in laughter, Gregory flushed a deep red and Jericho yelled something so obscene that made the young couple in the car beside theirs stare at him in open-mouthed shock. Even Mick was chuckling as Rob smoothly pulled them into a gas station and beside a pump.

"… And if you decide to keep being all smart-alecky on me, ass clown, I'll make sure those pictures of you using the Ass Master 3000 are circulated so wide little children in Guadalajara will be giggling over it!" Jericho yelled, still on his tirade as the van door slid open and he jumped out.

"Why we had to pull the gag out on the first day I'll never know," Rene said, his old accent beginning to return. "Come on; apparently I'm the designated payer from now on," he shuffled over to the adjoining convenience store, a still loudly complaining Jericho and a mildly grinning Rob following him.

Spanky hopped out too. "Uh, I think I had better…"

"Yeah, you should," Cena said, motioning him along.

Spanky nodded thankfully and ran off to once again empty his seemingly always-full bladder. As Matt and Cena got out to fill the tank with gas, that left Mick and Gregory remaining in the van. It was then that Gregory turned to the gap-toothed author. "Mick, just a shot in the dark, but I was going through my suitcase earlier and noticed that I was missing something. I don't really know how to say this, but you wouldn't happen to have seen…"

Before he could finish, Mick dug out something from his own stuff, a green and black outfit that was unmistakably the Hurricane's. "Right, here you go. I stuffed a laundry bag last night with all the stuff that was scattered about and this was one of them. I saw it this morning and figured that you would want it back quickly."

"Right," Gregory said, snatching the costume from him. He went to stuff it hurriedly into his suitcase, but then stopped and sighed. "What a horrible slip-up."

"What?" Mick asked, having been engrossed in jotting something down in a worn notebook.

"You are privy to my most treasured secret now, Citizen Foley," Helms said glumly.

"Hmm… what?" Mick asked distractedly, looking at him. "Oh, right, the costume. You being the Hurricane and all that. I gotcha. Don't worry, uh, you're secret's safe with me, my lips are sealed, and all that jazz."

"I'm grateful," Helms said. "But can I confide something in you?"

"As long as it's not anything concerning how you and Jericho hooked up last night, then okay," Mick said quickly.

Helms winced at being reminded about that, but decided to handle that later. "No, it's not. It's the Hurricane. Specifically, it's being the Hurricane. I'm thinking of maybe giving the whole thing up."

Mick blinked and looked at him incredulously. "Are you kidding me, Helms? Why in the hell would you think of doing something like that??"

"Well, truthfully, Mick, I don't think the Hurricane is appreciated any more," Helms said, looking morose at the thought. "That, and I think people are on to me."

"No," Mick said with an exaggerated widening of his eyes.

Helms nodded earnestly. "And it probably doesn't help that I might have blurted it out sometime last night when I was with Jericho—"

"Hey, I said nothing about last night," Mick immediately interrupted.

As the two of them debated the fate of the Hurricane, outside by the pump Matt gave the snickering Cena a suspicious look. "All right, spill it," he finally snapped. "And I don't mean the gas. You've been chuckling like Heyman getting one over Bischoff. What do you know?"

Cena grinned at him, checked that Mick and Helms weren't listening, and then leaned in to whisper, "I gave the chapel that married Helms and his less than blushin' bride a call this morning, just for kicks, and they told me that the minister on duty last night had had his license suspended three days earlier. Something about being unfit after he was caught marryin' people while stone drunk."

"So you mean that Jericho and Helms aren't really joined in holy matrimony then?" Matt said, looking disappointed. "Aw, crap. And here I was looking forward to ragging on them about it. It's no fun right now when most of us are still kinda hung-over."

This time Cena grinned even wider. "Hardy boy, who said that either of us had to tell them the marriage contract's a piece of shit?"

Matt caught his drift and grinned back at him. "Ah… I like that plan," he said, and then the two of them resumed chuckling as Cena finished filling up the gasoline tank.

Meanwhile, inside the convenience store Rob was seemingly taking his vow of sobriety seriously and nonchalantly passed the beer without a second glance. Instead he and Rene had gone about picking up the necessary supplies, meaning five jugs of soda, two packs of beef jerky and about a dozen bags of chips, so that they were stocked up for their last leg on the road.

Jericho had gone off to use a payphone to call up WWE management at Greenwich, intending to ask them to leave a message with the personnel at Arizona. It was from a payphone as any cellular phones they had taken with them during the trip were all dead. Nobody had really thought of charging batteries after getting shot at by hunters, busted at Beatty and whatnot throughout the entire trip.

After five rings somebody picked up the phone. "This is Vince McMahon," came the surprising voice at the other end.

"Vince?" Jericho exclaimed, looking at the phone, flabbergasted. "I thought you never answered your phone yourself. Where's your assistant?"

"I had to fire her today after she put 'some egghead calling himself Donnie Trump' on hold, her words," Vince said grumpily. "I'm headed for the Phoenix show tonight; I had the office phone divert to my cellphone. Why are you calling me?"

Jericho watched the phone credit start depleting at an obscenely fast rate. He mentally swore and then popped another quarter into the machine. "Well, you see Vince, I'm not at Phoenix myself yet."

"What are you talking about? The show's tonight!"

Another quarter. "I know, Vance, I've been aware of that for the past two days," Jericho said dryly. "Listen, I'm with seven other guys right outside of Vegas. We're going to step on it and hopefully make it in time for the show at nine tonight. It's going to be close, but I think we can pull it off."

"You had better," Vince said gruffly, displeased. "You're pegged for the main event, goddamnit! Wait, why didn't you call sooner, and did you say seven??"

Another quarter. "Oh yeah, Vince, we didn't think to call sooner, sorry about that," he said sarcastically, thinking about the infuriating five minutes he had spent tangling with Vince's inept ex-secretary. "Can we focus on me telling you now?"

"Fine, Chris," Vince snapped. "I'll be expecting you and the seven others at the arena tonight," and with that he hung up.

Jericho made a face and hung up as well, the change jangling into the coin slot. "'I'll be expecting you and the seven others at the arena tonight'," he mimicked. "Bitch."

At the counter Rene begrudgingly forked over the cash for the food and drinks, as well as the gas, all the while saying something about if this had happened within the space of the next few months the money he won could have been legal. Rob whistled and pointedly chose to ignore his grumbling. And then Chris joined them and the three of them headed out and back to the van.

"So we got everything?" Mick asked as everybody piled back in.

"Tank is full, we got nutrition," Cena held up the junk food. "Sort of. I say we're set. Let's get the fuck outta here."

"Finally, to Phoenix!" Matt declared with some degree of relief, and Rene and Cena cheered along with him.

As Rob was easing the van out of the station, Helms suddenly called out, "Wait, I really think we're missing something."

At that moment there was a cry from outside the rental. Everybody turned to see Spanky running after them, coming from the direction of the toilets. The van screeched to a stop and the door was thrown open, wherein about six hands reached out and yanked the cruiserweight into the vehicle. Slamming the door closed, Matt yelled out, "Let's go!" and Rob once again stepped on the gas pedal.

They had less than twelve hours to get to Phoenix.

**cont'd**

Okay, I admit I do not know exactly how far Vegas is from Phoenix, but for this story and my sanity's sake, let's assume that getting from one point to another fits into a twelve hour timeframe. That being said, it's the home stretch, but there are still more than a few loose threads. Will Rob be able to hold out on his newfound sobriety? Is the future of the Hurricane hanging in the balance? Will Gregory and Jericho ever find out that they aren't really Messrs Helms? Do we really want them to? All that and more, crammed into two chapters of messy goodness. Until then!


	18. Tripping Before the Finish Line

I ramble. But if you think this chapter is odd, disjointed and, honestly, rather pointless, you should see the next one. But on with this one!

Date Uploaded: 24 May 2007

**Chapter 18: Tripping Before the Finish Line**

When racing against the clock, it helped to have suspenseful music in the background. Seeing as this is was hardly a high-budget movie, however, the eight in their faithful rental were content to let the Queens of the Stone Age tune 'No One Knows' play on the radio, Rob unconsciously bobbing his head to the beat as he drove on.

Helms and Jericho had situated themselves as far away from the other as possible, even pointedly refusing to glance in each other's way. Cena grinned to himself, thinking of what he knew that they didn't, and the fact that he had taken it upon himself to keep the marriage contract tucked safely in his back pocket. Mick was in the backseat, scratching away like crazy in his notebook. Matt was trying to go to sleep and failing miserably. Rene yawned from the front passenger seat and stared out the window. Spanky was foolishly chugging from a bottle of soda, neglecting the fact that with his track record it would make him have to go again within two hours. 

Thus it was truly and actually peaceful for the first time in the entire trip.

Of course, with this group, that type of peace cannot last, and it would make for an exceedingly boring chapter to boot. Thought they would make it to Phoenix in one piece? Yeah, right, they did too.

Anyway, the first to break the relative silence was John Cena. Needing to stir up a little trouble, he turned around in his seat to face Jericho. "So, Chris, just wonderin', should we call you Chris Helms from now on? Or are you planning to hyphenate your maiden name so that you're called Chris Jericho-Helms?"

Gregory gave a groan and tried to hide his face behind his hands.

Jericho gave Cena an irritated look. "Oh, so that's starting proper now, is it? Well I have news for you, jerky, it's not going to work. And that's because once we get to Phoenix and get the show over with I'm going to file for a goddamn annulment."

"On what grounds?" Spanky asked cheekily.

"On every single fucking ground I can think of if I have to!" Jericho declared.

"Even impotence?" Matt inquired, finally perking up and grinning.

"If you do use that reason had better be yours and not mine," Gregory suddenly said, his head shooting up.

"Maybe you could use the ever popular 'irreconcilable differences'," Rene suggested.

"Isn't that only for divorce?" Spanky wondered.

"Who the hell cares anymore?" Rene said flippantly.

"Or you could opt for honesty and just tell them that you were both drinking your weight in Jack Daniels' and through the cloud figured that it would be a good idea to spend your lives together," Mick said, looking up momentarily from his notebook.

"Can I be there if that happens?" Matt asked, still grinning.

"All right, that's it," Jericho said, spreading his arms. "You want to rub it in? Fine, let's get it over with. Give me your worst; get it out of your fucking systems."

It was quiet for a moment as everyone save for Helms, who had put his head back down, and Rob, who kept his eyes on the road, traded sly grins. And then one by one they let it rip.

"I sure hope that you plan on giving Chris a first class honeymoon after forcing him to marry you in such a crappy ceremony, Gregory," Matt began. "Maybe you can ask the McMahons if they would lend you their beach house in the Bahamas for a week or so. While you're at it, ask them for a week off or so; they'll love that."

"Better yet, explain to them and the rest of management that the two of you have entered in the sacrament of holy matrimony," Cena said, putting on a pious voice.

"How in the fuck is that holy, huh Cena?" Rene snickered.

"Excellent point there, Dupree," Cena said, this time mimicking him.

"Hey, can you imagine what all those fan girls who write slash fanfiction will do when they get a hold of this?" Spanky commented. "They're going to have a field day!"

"All I can say is that I am never visiting bars with either of you two for as long as I live," Mick said, going back to his notebook.

"Listen, I don't know what the others are talking about," Rob said, adding his two cents. "I for one was rooting for you two kids. I'm so happy you guys ended up together and I just know that you're going to make it work."

"Rob, are you SURE you're still sober?" Cena asked.

"Yeah, besides, I always thought Chris and Christian were the ones who were really made for each other," Matt mused.

"Screw that; that was then, let's focus on the now," Rob said. "Say, I really have to say that it was pretty selfish of you guys to go and have a private ceremony. Ever considered throwing another one so everyone can attend? I know Lillian would love it."

"As for consummating the union... forget it, I really don't want to know," Rene said, shuddering.

"Well let's think a little more long term and go into family planning," Matt said. "I assume you'll be adopting?"

"Yeah, because God forbid Chris loses his figure," Mick said dryly.

"So what'll it be; a pair of hairless cats or a little baby girl from a Third World country?" Matt asked.

"All right, that's it, ENOUGH!" Gregory finally screamed, cutting off whatever Spanky would have said next. "Listen, during this entire fucking trip I've been pushed around, risked my neck, had my cover almost blown over and over again, maxed out my credit card, jailed during a gay club raid, doped up, smashed and got fucking hitched to that self-centered Canadian blonde! Now I think that I've put up with more than my share of shit from you fucked-up nitwits during over two days, so is it too much to ask for all of you to SHUT your TRAPS and back the FUCK off??"

There was absolute silence in the van following that massive outburst. Seven pairs of eyes stared at the infuriated, formerly mild-mannered reporter Gregory Helms, Rob doing it from the rearview mirror.

Finally Matt spoke up. "Wow. Chris, I'd think twice before pissing off the husband if I were you."

And that was what did it. Gregory let out a very unsuperhero-like snarl and tackled Matt, trying to wrap his hands around the older Hardy's throat. At once all the others jumped in, with Mick and Cena trying to keep Gregory from committing first degree murder. If there was a chance to use the phrase 'all hell broke loose' it was now, with Matt screaming for someone to get Gregory off him and Jericho taking the opportunity to knee Cena in the gut on the pretense of trying to help Matt.

In the midst of the chaos Rob's elbow was roughly jostled, making him unintentionally yank the wheel to the left. The SUV swerved dangerously, skidding right into the left lane and narrowly missing a pole that ironically warned them of slippery roads. They did, however, crash headlong into the large tree that dominated the opposite side of the road.

When the impact happened, it was safe to say that nobody save for Rob was securely buckled up. As such the seven who were up were thrown forward almost all the way into the front seat, and then immediately tossed backward a split second later. The airbags in front popped open and Rob was knocked back in his seat, momentarily dazed.

There was a groan from the back as the rest of the guys began to stir. "Everybody all right?" Mick asked, sounding groggy.

"No, I feel like we just hit a fucking tree," Jericho groaned.

"I think Spanky's dead," Rene said. "Oh wait, he blinked. He's alive."

"Aw, fuck..." Spanky moaned from the floor of the van.

There was a fizzing noise and then something suddenly burst, the sound startling the wrestlers and making a few swear angrily. "It's okay, it's just one of the bottles of soda," Cena called out.

Cursing and pushing himself up, Matt managed to slide the door open. From there he and the other guys tumbled out one by one, Rob having unbuckled himself from the driver's seat and going over to help them out. The eight of them, bruised, sore but thankfully with everything still functioning, surveyed the crash. The SUV had gone a good dozen meters off the side of the road and the front had practically wrapped itself around the tree. They stared at it with some degree of horrid fascination.

"That is fucked," Cena finally stated.

A couple of heads nodded up and down in agreement. Then Mick turned to RVD. "Rob…"

"Mick, dude, I know I'm a laid back kinda guy, but if you're going to start blaming me for this thing I'm going to go ape-shit on you like Helms did to Matt," Rob told him.

Mick shook his head. "No, not that; I saw that Rene kick your arm so technically he should be the one to shoulder the most blame for this mess."

Rene scowled. "Isn't it enough that I'm obviously going to be the one paying for all of this?"

"Yeah, that probably ought to do it," Mick said, nodding. "But I wanted to ask, Rob, remind me again if we paid for the insurance on that thing when we rented it out."

Rob thought about it, and then he shook his head. "Nope. If I remember correctly Spanky said that it was just a waste of money and we wouldn't need it anyway."

That made all of them glare at their smallest member. Spanky got wide-eyed as he stared back at them. "Oh, sure, the first time you guys actually listen to me about something. How in the fuck was I supposed to know??"

"What a load of crap," Jericho snapped at him, and then he addressed everyone. "All right, be honest. Hands up for those who honestly didn't expect this to happen?"

Not a single hand went up, not even Spanky's.

"I say we tag this on both the French-Canadian guy and the pipsqueak," Jericho declared, glaring down at Spanky's blonde head.

"That's not fair!" Spanky cried out. "We're all responsible for this, one way or the other."

Mick sighed. "I hate to say it, but he's right, you know; when it boils down to it we were all acting like dickwads those last few seconds before the crash. Anyway, might as well go back and pull our stuff out of the vehicle."

And then at that moment the van went up in flames. There was more silence as they watched what they had ridden, bickered, slept and lit up in for the past two days smolder in the afternoon sun. Rene moved to say something, but then the front of the van exploded, causing all of them to duck.

It was Jericho who spoke up in a dry voice. "And who didn't expect that?"

After a beat Spanky raised his hand. Jericho moved to punch him and he quickly ducked behind John Cena.

Matt wearily turned to Gregory. "Still want to kill me, Hurricane?"

"No. I think I've gotten it out of my system now, thanks," Helms said, still looking at the burning van in shock.

"So what do we do now?" Cena asked.

Mick sighed. "What else?" he went over to the road and then wearily lifted his hand, thumb out. A moment later the others joined him.

"Well, at least we can say that things can't get any worse," Spanky said.

At that moment lightning flashed, thunder rumbled and it began to pour, drenching them all through. Once again they all turned to glare at Spanky, who smartly opted to keep his mouth shut this time. And so the eight turned hitchhikers waited.

**cont'd**

Well, just a few hours away from their destination and now our favorite eight wrestlers are quite vehicle-less and reduced to hitchhiking. Will they ever actually make it? The next chapter will utterly, completely, and finally reveal all. Stay tuned for the less than strirring denouement and the (very) long-awaited conclusion!


	19. Destination, Phoenix

  
This is it, the absolute FINAL chapter. It's been a crazy, funny, sometimes agonizing four years, but it's finally complete. Thanks to everybody who staunchly stuck it out. Here's to you guys.

On another note - I wrote this almost a month previously, that's why Chris Benoit is featured in it. And unlike WWE I'm not pulling his name or apologizing for it.

Date Uploaded: 30 June 2007

**Chapter 19: Destination, Phoenix**

Getting a ride as a lone hitchhiker was bad enough. Suffice to say that eight on the side of the road didn't have the greatest odds on their side, especially since they were standing in the pouring rain with a blessedly doused out but still smoking crash behind them. But with a little luck and that almost extinct quality of the believing in the kindness of strangers, they were fortunate enough to have a large truck draw up to a stop beside them.

An aging truck driver with a balding plate and grease stains on his plaid shirt leaned out the window. He looked rough around the edges but had a kind enough face. "Man, what the fuck happened to you guys?"

"It's a long story," Mick said. "We're trying to get to Phoenix┘ er, all of us, that is. Mind if we hitch a ride as far as where you're going?"

"Well I'm headed there myself," the truck driver said, scratching his head as he looked at all of them. "I suppose I could bring you guys along, but only one of you can stay up here, so I hope the rest of you don't mind riding in the back of the truck."

"Buddy, you can strap me to the roof for all I care, I'll take the ride any which way you can fit me," Cena said.

"All right," he said. "Head back and I'll open it up for you."

It was decided that Mick would ride up front, mainly because Mick had pulled open the door and was swinging himself in the front passenger seat before anybody could protest. So the other seven trooped back with the truck driver, content with the notion of a ride out of the rain for the moment.

That was, of course, until the truck driver opened the back and they came face to face with a massive cooler stocked with fish. The cold and the smell overwhelmed them the moment the doors opened and they all leaned backwards in unison. "I got some rugs in that box," the driver said, pointing to a carton in the corner. "But there isn▓t much I can do about the smell, sorry."

They looked at each other, and then finally Matt said, "No sense being picky. We can live with it for a few hours," and he climbed into the back.

Helms, Rob, Spanky, Cena and with much hesitation Rene followed, but Chris opened his mouth and would no doubt have said something about not sticking his rear in that reeking fish bucket when Cena simply grabbed him by the collar and he and Rob heaved him in. "Thanks, man," Rob said.

"Don't mention it," the truck driver said, closing the door after them.

Back up front Mick was making himself comfortable when the driver returned to his seat and started the engine back up. "So the guys will be safe back there, right?"

"Safer than out on the road in front of that wreck," the driver said, grinning. "Although they may end up smelling like a bunch of fresh trout for the next few weeks."

Mick laughed. "Hey, we really appreciate this, by the way."

⌠Been a hitchhiker myself, so I understand your predicament,■ the driver said. ⌠The name▓s Earl, by the way.■

⌠Mick,■ Mick said, shaking his hand.

⌠So, how did you guys end up like you did? Looking at you and that totaled wreck back there I▓m kind of curious,■ Earl inquired as he pulled back onto the freeway.

⌠Like I said, Earl, it▓s a long story,■ Mick said with a sigh.

Earl gestured to the expanse of road. ⌠We have time. Humor this old man.■

And so Mick began to talk.

**╩╩╩**

Meanwhile their cargo were far from comfortable. To combat the cold of the freezer Helms had suggested that they pull on the rugs and huddle together in a circle. ⌠And anybody thinking of cracking another gay joke is going to spend the rest of the ride with a trout head in his mouth,■ he threatened.

⌠Sheesh, fine, chill, would you?■ Cena grumbled, unintentionally making a bad pun. ⌠Man, I kinda liked the old, dumpy Gregory, you know? I think hangin▓ around Chris all night last night rubbed off on him.■ He stopped as he caught the error of his words, courtesy of a murderous glare from Helms. ⌠Hey, that was totally not deliberate, all right? So you can stop lookin▓ at me like I trampled all over your fedora or somethin▓.■

By and by, though, all realized the benefit of huddling up so they did curl up in a circle towards the middle of the containment, as far away from the crates stacked with fish that lined the sides. The only light came from a heavy duty flashlight that Rene had scrounged up in the box with the rugs.

⌠For fuck▓s sake, we lost all our shit,■ Jericho grumbled, shoving Spanky a little bit so he could edge closer into the circle. ⌠Papers, passports, in your case, Dupree, your protein shakes and girly mags┘■

⌠Haha,■ Rene said dryly. ⌠I wouldn▓t talk if I were you, Mr Herbal Essences shampoo."

⌠You have to admit, this all puts things into perspective, though,■ Helms suddenly mused out loud. ⌠I mean, despite everything, we▓ve all taken something out of this experience.■

⌠Is that so?■ Matt said. ⌠And what▓s yours, pray tell?■

⌠Not really at liberty to pronounce it, Matt Hardy, but let▓s just say that Gregory Helms is going to concentrate on just Gregory Helms from now on,■ Helms said.

⌠Why, are you giving up the Hurri≈mmph!■ Spanky was cut off when Rene clapped a hand over his mouth to shut his question up.

⌠Well I▓ve learned that I▓ll be setting my own alarm clock in the future and not to rely on pinheads who can▓t tell their heads from their asses,■ Matt grumbled. ⌠And also that I will never spend a night at some creepy roadside motel ever again.■

⌠And I▓ll know that if I ever win big at the casinos, there is no way I am calling any of you clods over just so you can siphon all my winnings out of me,■ Rene said sorely.

Cea snickered. ⌠I▓m with Helms on this one; I learned a lot on this trip, like maps don▓t help any and that none of us should ever have free reign over an open bar. But I guess the golden rule of this entire trip is that whatever can get fucked up will get fucked up.■

⌠How poetic,■ Jericho said sarcastically. ⌠You▓re a regular Shakespeare, junior.■

⌠Yeah? Well what did you get out of this, Mr Helms, aside from the obvious?■ Cena said cuttingly.

⌠I learned that if I had the option to impale myself on a golf club over taking another road trip with you guys I would choose the club!■ Jericho retorted loudly.

Spanky grinned widely. ⌠Well I think that this entire experience has made us form tighter bonds and lifelong friendships.■

They all glared at him, something they had seemed to be doing a lot in the past few hours. Spanky lost his grin. ⌠What, too early to make corny jokes?■

The truck then gave a bit of a jolt, causing them to bang into each other like bowling pins, much to their displeasure. The flashlight fell and rolled over to Rob, who picked up and settled it firmly back in place. ⌠Hey Rob,■ Matt suddenly called, ⌠how about you? Care to share like the rest of us?■

Rob gave an easy grin. ⌠You really wanna know what I think? I think sobriety▓s overrated. I▓m giving it up the moment we get outta this truck.■

⌠You▓re been clean and sober for five hours, ass clown,■ an exasperated Jericho said to him.

⌠Yeah, and within those five hours we crashed, watched the SUV blow up, and now we▓re stuck in the back of a godawful-smelling fish truck practically sharing our feelings,■ Rob pointed out. ⌠I really need a drink.■

There was a bit of a silence as the others contemplated that. And then one by one they started to move out of the circle and adopted staring into space indifferently. And thus the ride passed with a sort of uncomfortable calm.

**╩╩╩**

When the fish delivery truck arrived at the Scottsdale Stadium, Mick opened the door of the passenger seat and hopped out, turning back to grin at Earl. ⌠And so that brings us to now,■ he said, coming to the end of his story. ⌠Hey, thanks a lot for going out of your way and dropping us off here.■

Earl laughed. ⌠After hearing all the crazy shit you guys have been through, I figured it was the least I could do. We better get your friends out of the back and let them get some air.■

The banging had started already when the two of them moved to unlatch the back. When the compartment was opened Matt and Rene immediately jumped out, followed by Helms and Spanky, Cena, Jericho and then a coolly smiling Rob. They muttered their thanks and then dashed into the arena to make the show, with only RVD stopping to shake Earl▓s hand. All of them reeked of fish.

⌠Sorry about that; usually they▓re a much more pleasant bunch,■ Mick said with a certain amount of irony.

Earl waved it off. ⌠I understand. Go on, and good luck with the show.■

⌠Thanks again,■ Mick said, shaking his hand as well before following RVD into the arena.

Inside the guys ran into Chris Benoit, who had come from the locker rooms. He stopped and made a face as he caught a whiff of the stench coming from them. ⌠Hey... what the hell is that smell? Have you guys been wallowing in fish guts or something?■

⌠Close enough,■ Matt said as they prepared to brush past him on their way to the showers.

⌠Did you guys just get in?■ Benoit inquired.

⌠Yeah; we missed the plane at Seattle and pretty much had to drive down,■ Spanky said hurriedly.

⌠Why didn▓t you just take the next flight out?■ Benoit asked, puzzled.

That made all of them stop and turn around to look at him. ⌠What next flight?■ Jericho asked darkly.

⌠I missed that first flight too because I had to meet a relative,■ Benoit said. ⌠The next flight that left two hours after that one went straight to Phoenix and got me here within hours.■

⌠We were told that there weren▓t any straight flights to Phoenix,■ Rene growled.

⌠That▓s funny,■ Benoit mused. ⌠I spoke to a really helpful woman named Sonia. She gave me the tickets no problem. Come to think of it, she said that I was lucky because she might have given that seat to someone else and his friends, if he wasn▓t being such a carping bitch.■

Seven pairs of angry eyes swiveled on Chris Jericho. He gave a defensive stare back. ⌠What??■

Just then a booker ran by yelling, ⌠Show▓s starting in ten minutes! Somebody cue the damn pyro!■

⌠And that would be the cue for you guys to hit the showers,■ Benoit said. ⌠I▓ll see you out there,■ and he went on his way.

There was a moment among the hustle and bustle backstage that the eight tired, worn, foul-smelling, possibly psychologically scarred erstwhile road-trippers stared at each other, dumbfounded or infuriated to the point of speechlessness. And then Matt cleared his throat. ⌠I think we should go back to our first pick and keep blaming Jericho for all the shit we went through.■

Immediately a cacophony of insults and dissuasions burst from the group, with Jericho▓s voice rising over the rest, screeching, ⌠All of you are a bunch of troglodytes who were the ones who trussed me up and threw me in the back of that fucking SUV in the first place!!■

And that was how the eight of them entered the locker room to suit up, even as at the ring the pyrotechnics started and the show began and this story, blessedly, ends.

**╩╩╩**

**Epilogue**

Explaining to a bewildered manager how one of their rental SUVs happened to come to its end by exploding into flames by the side of a freeway was an experience Mick Foley never figured he would have to go through. Although while all the hardcore legend had to do was pull the most apologetic face he could muster, Rene was once again stuck with the bill. And calculating all the expenditures of the road trip, it left him with a measly forty dollars, which RVD happily lifted off him to buy a case of beer to celebrate his almost half a day of being clean and sober.

A few items were salvaged from the crash. These were, surprisingly enough, the following: a slightly singed Hurricane outfit, the goddamn Japanese side of the map, a seemingly invincible packet of beef jerky giving a suspicious nuclear glow, Mick▓s daughter▓s mix tape, a bottle of Chris▓ precious Herbal Essences shampoo, ironically a portable fire extinguisher, and Mr Socko.

The hitchhiker from chapter six awoke on the side of the road with a stuffed head, a wad of cash, a saucy note and thus the sinking feeling that he had done something the previous night that he would live to regret. Of course he stumbled into the McKinney Motel and was pleasantly surprised to receive caring hospitality from motel keepers Tiffany and Laura. On his way to his booked room he grabbed an unlabeled tape that he hoped contained porn. Later that night witnesses said he was spotted screaming and running off into the distance, leaving nothing but a vacuum cleaner and a wad of cash. Thus was born the urban legend of a crazed, screaming hitchhiker running up and down a highway yelling something about dope, tapes and seven guys who owed him a new vacuum cleaner.

Soon after the guys made bail at Beatty, the cops picked up two teenaged boys stupidly smoking marijuana on the steps in front of the local library. When asked where they got it, they claimed that it had ▒fallen from heaven▓. They were held until their angry parents came to collect them.

Matt berated his supposedly loyal MFer Shannon Moore upon his arrival at Phoenix, and as punishment for leaving him behind back in Washington Shannon was forced to write down ▒I will never neglect my Sensei of Mattitude ever again▓ a thousand times on a chalkboard. Teachers at a local public school were not amused to find him carrying out his orders prior to biology class.

As was his habit, Edge had given ▒Megan▓ from Vegas a phone number that wasn▓t his. It happened to be Matt▓s number, and that would have posed problems for the Innovator of Mattitude had Edge not done the same thing five times previously. He decided to do the gentlemanly thing and gave Megan the right number. Edge may have had a brace around his neck then, but when his wife found out he ended up in a full body cast and sleeping on the living room couch.

Mick accidentally let slip to a few crewmembers about ▒The Pink Flamingo▓, but managed to cover up before he could tell about the raid at the club being the reason they ended up in jail at Beatty. Unsurprisingly enough, Pat Patterson seemed to be the only one really interested.

To those wondering, ▒The Pink Flamingo▓ is still in business. To those who weren▓t wondering, sorry for the mental image.

Spanky returned to Circus Circus and was invited by the young trapeze artist to try his hand flying through the air up on the bars and ropes instead of his more familiar turf of turnbuckles and ladders. He did, and predictably missed on his first try and plunged for the net. He bounced once, twice, and then toppled onto the ground four feet down, knocking himself out and reducing the poor trapeze artist to tears once again. She now visits him every spring on her days off.

After confirming that Las Vegas was not one of the states that sanctioned same-sex unions and learning of their minister▓s not-so-reliable background, Gregory Helms and Chris Jericho both heaved sighs of relief. They made a solemn vow to never speak of the incident to anyone, or to even drink with each other anymore. Of course it was rather futile as two hours earlier Matt and John Cena had circulated copies of the marriage certificate to everyone in the locker room. This led them to be the butt of jokes for a considerably long time, more so as Cena has still faithfully kept the original locked away to pull out at the most awkward times. So far Gregory and Jericho haven▓t been able to get their hands on it.

Gregory Helms donned the Hurricane suit one last time for old time▓s sake, and went out to see what wrongs he could right. He managed to stop a small shop from burning to the ground, but a less than grateful shopkeeper cursed the Hurricane as she had set up the fire in order to collect the insurance. Thoroughly disgruntled, Helms hung up his costume for good┘ except for Halloween or the odd drunken weekend.

Rene Dupree took to using Douglas Simpson as a pseudonym. Exactly why he needed one he really couldn▓t begin to explain. Incidentally, he has never been able to duplicate his first success at the casinos, and not for want of trying.

A little under a week later Matt, Spanky, Cena, Helms, Rene, Jericho and Rob met up before midnight, convinced that there was strength in numbers. Hence if some creepy little girl appeared to try and kill them for watching that stupid tape they would be able to kick her back from the well she had been thrown into in the first place. A nearby HDTV flicked on and the video of a girl rising from a well showed, before slowly making her way on her hands and knees towards the screen. Before Rene could ultimately faint from terror, though, the 'girl' pulled her hair apart to reveal a grinning Mick Foley, laughing at them from the TV screen. Needless to say, none of them thought it was very funny, and have thus far refrained from watching any more American remakes of Japanese horror films.

Spanky developed the film in his camera and the one in Mick▓s as per the latter▓s request. The pictures that came out as a result of the entire trip quickly found themselves on the Internet and will no doubt be passed on for generations to come, making seven out of eight regret the day they ever missed that flight to Phoenix from the Seattle airport and ended up in an impromptu road trip.

Mick Foley penned an account of the entire trip that would ultimately hit the bestseller list. He called it ▒Eating Asphalt▓, subtitled ▒And Other Things to Avoid Doing on the Road▓. Inside was the inscription, ▒A journey of a thousand miles begins with a missed flight. This is dedicated to seven people. They know who they are.▓

**END**

**╩╩╩**

And for old time's sake, here's a tiny little segment that serves as my traditional 'Author's Notes', something I usually stuck at the end of stories and haven't done in some time. It would probably make little sense to anybody unfamiliar to my earlier stuff, though.

**Author▓s Notes**

⌠Four years, Agatha,■ Chris Jericho snarled, glaring at the authoress through Dolce and Gabanna sunglasses. ⌠Four years of hell, all for a goddamn fanfic that takes place over the course of three days and two nights.■

⌠Hey, it wasn▓t exactly a walk in the park for me either,■ Azrael countered, sitting back in her chair with an apathetic look. ⌠My writing style completely changed and I got hit with writer▓s block for months at a time. Also, I discovered that I▓m marginally unfunnier than I was when I first started writing this story.■

⌠You were never funny, Alice.■

⌠You only say that because you were the butt of most if not all my jokes. Speaking of which, are you thinking of coming back to WWE anytime soon? Because I▓ve found that it▓s a hell of a lot easier to write you when I actually see you making a jackass of yourself on TV every week.■

⌠Fuck you, you infernal bitch.■

⌠Back at you, you self-centered asshole.■


End file.
